


Temperature

by LovelyLetters777



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a sad ending, Avengers Inserts, Canon Compliant, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Marvel Inserts, Mentions of Rape, Not a lot though, Reader-Insert, Real Life, Romance, Sad Ending, lyric - Freeform, non-canon, oneshots, prompts, reader - Freeform, some violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2016-08-08
Packaged: 2018-04-23 21:00:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 28,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4892092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovelyLetters777/pseuds/LovelyLetters777
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Are you burning to be with Bucky? Are you too cold-hearted to let Tony love you? Is Bruce too frigid for you to flirt with? This work is filled with lyrics prompt reader inserts with the imperfectly perfect men of the Avengers. All lyrics have something to do with temperature (i.e. hot, cold, frozen, burning, etc.). So, what are you waiting for? The temperature is perfect inside.</p><p> I DO take requests, so request away!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tony Stark/Reader

_“And that’s when my love was burning, yeah it’s still burning.”~ Ghost, Ella Henderson_

Love isn’t supposed to hurt. Every time you woke up to an empty bed, you couldn’t help but sit up as this mantra repeated over and over and over again in your head. When Tony was there, beside you, it was perfect. But just as soon as things got better, they got equally worse just as fast. For the last year of your marriage, your husband slept in his lab during the majority of the week. He hadn’t been in the same bed with you for a month, and you were losing faith in his love. Tony is just extremely busy, you tried to reason. He is a superhero who saves the planet every few years, after all.  
“We both know that’s a lie,” your conscious whispered to you. “We both know that this isn’t right.”  
And with a sharp pain in your chest, you would throw off the covers and plunge yourself headfirst into your day. The wilting of your heart was easier to ignore if you were distracted. It took you a while to accept the inevitable: divorcing Tony Stark. You tried to reconnect with him, but he often was so far into his work or his “playtime” that all you received was a kiss on the forehead and a dismissal. It wasn’t until you couldn’t remember the last time you kissed him on the lips that you realized that that this wasn’t healthy. Collapsed on the bedroom floor, sobbing off your caked on makeup, you looked hard and long in the mirror and found this lost version of yourself. You were giving Tony everything you had to give, and he didn’t even notice. Here your love was burning to ashes in your chest… and he didn’t even care. An hour later you had your lawyer on the phone filing for irreconcilable differences. You were still desperately in love with him but you had to get away. It was eating you alive staying there. But watching him sign the divorce papers with his flourishing signature, with not a hint of regret, you wonder if he ever loved you at all. The last of your heart is engulfed in flames as your pen hits the dotted line, and crumbles to pieces as you pull it away. The ashes have been used as the ink to sign your name, and yet you’re still burning alive.


	2. Clint Barton/Reader

_"He said, “ I wanna see you again, but I'm stuck in colder weather. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Can I call you then?”"~ Colder Weather, Zac Brown Band_

You understand Clint has a job to do, and if it happens to take place in Russia with a gorgeous red-head, then so be it. Honest to God, you understand that he doesn’t have a choice in the matter. S.H.I.E.L.D. will put him anywhere they want him, and wouldn’t give a damn if he was unhappy or not. Because first and foremost, Clint is an agent. From the second he explained his job to you, you knew this would always be the case. But back then, you had been a wide-eyed sophomore in college who thought it would be easy to wait forever for the muscular archer. You thought it would be a walk in the park to sit at home while he risked his life everyday. You didn’t want the same things then as you do now. Back then you were satisfied with parties and your tiny city apartment and the student life. Now, your dreams are plagued by white picket fences, dogs and a little baby boy in a white onesie. You’re so ready to settle down in the suburbs with your bird-man and have 2-and-a-half kids.  
But he isn’t.  
You’re terrified he is never be able to walk away from S.H.I.E.L.D., and you’re going to spend your life pining after a man who will never be able to live that life. The walls of your apartment close in on your thoughts, cramping your dreams and your wishes. They suffocate you until…. the phone rings. Caller ID says it’s your archer, and so you drag yourself from the couch to answer it.  
“Hey babe!” You answer, suddenly relieved at the sound of life on the other end.  
A crackle from the phone reverberates around your skull. Not life, you amend. A snowstorm, most likely.  
“Hi -aby! Sor-... -lled too late! Don’t know… is gonna end. But when it does Nat and I will co-”  
The line goes dead. Sucking in a deep breath, you watch as your phone lights up with a text message. Three words.  
CALL YOU TOMORROW.  
Flipping the screen upside down next to the charging table, your eyes tear up. It’s always tomorrow. Always later. Sometimes you feel like it’s never. But leaving Clint? That would be the worst pain you could ever experience. You two are perfect for each other: two people with one heart. You are each other’s safe spaces. You don’t leave a safe place to get frostbite, no matter what “reward” you might get. Flipping your phone back over, you unlock it and text back a simple “OK, I love you”. One more message pops up before you shut it off.  
“One day, I’m gonna watch you walk down the aisle to me in a wedding dress as white as this snow. Love you.”  
You smile, and your tears have vanished. You blush like a little school girl as you close your eyes and hit the power button. At moments like this, you truly know Clint is the one for you. He understands you better than anyone ever has, and knows what you need to hear. It makes all your doubt of the future and his love disappear. Even if you have to wait years for him to be ready, you would wait patiently for him.

And before you know it, you’re standing at the front door while watching your baby boy and his sister play with their dad Clint. The third child rests firmly in your stomach. He’ll be born in colder weather, but you’ve survived frostier storms with the archer by your side.


	3. Steve Rogers/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!!!!!!IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!  
>  You guys have been great with the requests, so keep on requesting!  
> What I was wondering, though, is if you guys prefer Pietro to be written with or without his accent. Comment whether or not you want me to write his dialogue with a Sokovian accent or if you want his dialogue in plain English. Thanks, and at this rate expect requests to be filled within a few days of asking. Have a great day :D  
> ~LovelyLetters777

_“It’s too cold for you here.”~ Sweater Weather, The Neighborhood_

When you had joined the Avengers, the last thing you wanted was to have someone fall in love with you. You had become an assassin simply because you never wanted to be in love with anyone, ever. Growing up, you had watched your love-struck mother pine after a man that hit her after his first beer can. Your “father” could backhand her in a flash, and wouldn’t even flinch as she teared up, her cheek turning beet-red. Often her love-hazed mind would make excuses for him, and tell you that “daddy” loved you both very much. He’s just frustrated, sweetie. He just doesn’t know how to use his words, honey. He doesn’t mean it, baby. But punch, after slap, after kick, you knew he did. And when your own mother didn’t defend you from his blows, you swore to never fall in love with anyone. Love was dangerous- love could tear you to shreds.

The Captain is a gentleman, Natasha promises you. He’s a man of respect and honor; very big in his old-fashioned ways. He would never hurt you… it’s funny how two people who have never met can sound so alike. Ignoring his blue-eyed stares at you, you wonder what makes you the center of his attention. Any other girl would welcome him with warmth and open arms. But your hugs would chill him to the bone, and freeze his heart in the process. Your love and your life would be far too cold for him to live with. With no other choice, you leave no evidence behind as you disappear into the night. The ice in your heart wasn’t melting- at least, that’s what you told yourself as the “condensation” from your icy heart leaked out of your eyes and down your cheeks.


	4. Pietro Maximoff/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote Pietro with an accent by the suggestion of a lovely commentator! Hope you like it!

                                    _“Burning, burning, burning and nothing can cool me. I just might turn to smoke but I feel fine.” ~ Burning Love, Elvis_

For about a year now, you have been the secretary of the Avengers. You manage their schedules, give them updates on situations, and generally try to calm the flames that are bound to start up when dealing with a superhero team. And, not to be conceited, you are pretty amazing at your job. While some women might have run from a challenge like the Avengers, you were ecstatic to be taking on such a difficult role. You love your job, you love the atmosphere and you love the people.

But see, that’s sort of the problem.

You are head over heels in love with Pietro Maximoff, the speedster extraordinaire. But as his team’s secretary, you’re forced to remain professional. Meaning friendships were cool, but romance was a no-no. How could you deny it to anybody, though? Every time you hear his accent it sends chills up and down your spine, and his eyes encapture yours with a glance. And so in fear of your feelings being outed, you… well… avoid him as much as possible. As a grown woman, you feel disappointed with yourself. Only 12 year olds dodge their schoolyard crushes. You are powerful, independent woman with a degree and a high-paying job. What do you have to fear? A lot, apparently, because every time you’re around Pietro, you’re constantly doubting yourself. Is your hair messed up? Did you spill something on your shirt? Are you even listening to what he’s saying????? And so, you avoid him as much as possible. You tried to be subtle, but you weren’t exactly doing the best job.

“(Y/N)? Are yhou listening too me? (Y/N)?” Wanda Maximoff leaned on the edge of your desk, staring at you with one eyebrow raised.

“Of course, Wanda. Could you.. um.. repeat that, though?” You say as you blush and nod rapidly.

Wanda laughs and shakes her head, sitting down on the top of your desk. She leans back on it with one hand, now smirking while chuckling.

“So, yhou are steel in denial about being in luhv wid my brather?” She lets out a laugh as you open and close your mouth like a fish. “Do not worry, I weel not tell heem. And he is too blind to see eet himself.”

“I am not in love with your brother! Why would I avoid him if I liked him?” You sputter out, trying to calm your racing pulse.

“Bechause he somehow manages to make yhou nervous. Lord knows he is nuzhing to be swooning ovher,” she teases, poking you in the leg with the tip of her boot.

“Your “brather” is totally… your brother is interesting, Ms. Maximoff,” you say, trying to act apathetic.

“Interesteeng? Dhat is what one says when dhey are avoiding a question. And are we bahck to beeing on a last-name-bahsis? I thought we were passed dhat point,” Wanda chuckles out.

Slamming your laptop lid closed, you stand up and lock your door, leaning up against it. You bite your lip and play with your fingers. She already knows, but saying it out loud makes everything more real. You swallow hard.

“Wanda, I’m in love with your brother. You already know that but… please don’t tell him. It would never work out, even if he did love me back. Which he probably doesn’t.”

“And how do yhou know dhat?”

Standing between Wanda and Vision (Wanda tells her boyfriend everything, much to your chagrin- including your little Pietro problem), you three are heading up to the penthouse for a couple drinks with the rest of the team. It’s a Friday tradition that you never hopped on board with because Pietro always showed up. You were about to change that, though. The doors to the elevator open, and you are shuffled inside the clean living space of the penthouse. Everyone is there, including a couple girlfriends of the other superheroes. Only one face captures your attention though, and as soon as you see him all your courage drains out of you. Practically jogging to the bar, you pretend not to notice him heading your way. Suddenly, you run into a muscular chest and are enveloped by a musky, masculine scent that could only be one man. Pietro. His face is marred by a deep frown and canyon-like worry wrinkles. Your mouth goes dry, and you freeze up. Within seconds, you two have zoomed out of the room and out onto the roof.

“Are yhou ahvoiding me, (Y/N)?”Pietro asks point blank, biting his lip in a way that should be illegal.

You don’t know what to say; saying no would be a lie, but telling the truth would require a confession you weren’t ready to give. Instead, you stand there shivering from the sight breeze.

“Forghet dhat. I know yhou are. I zhink dhere is a better question. Would Wanda ever lie to me?” Pietro says, searching your eyes.

You shake your head no; you don’t know where this is headed.

“So yhou are in luhv wid me?” Pietro swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Your entire world comes crashing down in one blow. He knows. He knows. Your heart has fallen into your stomach, and is slowly being dissolved by acid. He’s never going to love you. How could you be so stupid as to confess your love to Wanda? Better yet, how could she TELL him? She promised, she said… it destroys you to think that way.

“Bechause (Y/N), for so long I hav tried to deny my own feelings for yhou. I hav tried to play cool and confehdent and ahloof- but I cannot. Dhe feelings I hav for yhou are burning me from dhe inside out every second I keep dhem in. I luhv you, **inima mea**.”

The love you’ve kept hidden from the world blooms like a solar flare, and spreads throughout your body. You don’t even feel the wind as you press your lips to his, sharing your burning passion with him without saying a word.

 

Translations:

**inima mea** \- my heart


	5. Bruce Banner/Reader

_“In the night, hear ‘em talk; coldest story ever told.”~Heartless, The Fray_

If there is one thing you will never understand about your colleagues is the way they treat Dr.Bruce Banner. You’re all grown adults, most of you with advanced degrees in things like calculus, chemistry, physics and the like. Everyone is social with each other (well, as social as socially-awkward scientists can be) when Bruce isn’t in the room. but as soon as he steps in, it’s like an invisible flipping of a switch. Bruce becomes that kid nobody plays with at recess; the kid at lunch nobody talks to unless necessary. Sure, Dr.Banner tended to stick to his lab upstairs with Tony, and maybe he was a bit antisocial- but he was never rude! Your colleagues were just little nerds who cowered at the fact that they were “in danger” from something other than their geeky  projects. They quiver at the thought that at “any moment”, Dr.Banner could explode and kill them all. But you knew better than your timid peers. When you first joined S.H.I.E.L.D. as a scientist and was placed at the Avenger’s Tower, you had been apprenticed to Dr.Banner. It took time and convincing to make the genius realize that you weren’t made of glass, and that you didn’t see him as some sort of ticking bomb. But just as soon as you two began to really bond, you were deemed experienced enough to be one of the regular scientists. In your current situation, people like you and appreciate your input. You have made a few connections, and people were polite to you. However, you know that you had been branded when you first defended Dr.Banner against the whispers against his back. Your peers delivered cowardly tongue-lashings and told stories of all his worst mistakes. Not being able to stand it any longer, you jumped into the conversation and shut it down. You often found yourself eating alone, and partnerships on projects were professional and aloof. Not that you minded, because whenever Dr.Banner would return your “good morning” with a timid smile and a nod, you knew you were making the right choice. Today had been particularly rough for Bruce: one of your peers that was braver than the rest flat out asked if he liked murdering people in Hulk form, and if he killed his last girlfriend. Eyes hardening, he stormed out of the room and hasn’t been seen since then. You had reported the incident to Tony, who had the man fired and the others sent home. You were the only one left in the lab, and even you were packing up your things. The lab door opens, and you look up. It’s Bruce, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Sorry, I just… I’ll go…”he murmurs quietly.

Setting down the freshly washed test tubes in your hand, you walk towards him, looking him straight in the eyes. He's moving backwards towards the door, trying to stay out of your reach. You don't care, and instead reach for his hand. His large, calloused hands wrap around yours, and it's like electricity. Your thumbs rub over his skin, and you watch as your mentor's eyes fill with tears. He blinks desperately, and turns his face. You envelop him in a hug, and rub his back. Salty drops of water hit your lab coat, but you couldn't care less. 

"It's not true. I never... I never like to... it's not true. Not true," He sobs into your shoulder. 

Swallowing back your own tears, you let him cry himself out. How could anybody say anything against the wonderful man in your arms? How could they point fingers and say monster? How could they live with their cold hearts, knowing that Bruce hears their whispers and relives them every night? You don't know, and all you can do is hold Bruce in your embrace until the ice melts from their veins.

 

 

 

 


	6. James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader

_“Because the last time you saw me is still burned in the back of your mind.”~ Back to_ _December, Taylor Swift_

The bustle of the medical wing in the Avenger’s facility is nothing compared to the melee going on in your mind. In fact, your job as a nurse practitioner is easy compared to the rushing thoughts behind your eyes. It’s muscle memory to take blood, give medicine and bandage wounds. But to figure out how to approach a man that’s avoiding you?

That’s a challenge on a level of it’s own.

It would be easier if it was something of your own fault- you could apologize and things would go back to normal. Unfortunately, it really wasn’t either of your faults. You were Bucky’s nurse practitioner, and had been since he joined the Avengers. For the past two years you were pretty much the only one to take care of his injuries and all-over health. You were the one who sewed up his wounds, repositioned broken bones, and made sure he was sleeping. Since you guys saw each other so much, you two became close friends. And once you became friends, it wasn’t hard to… admire him. He is everything you ever wanted in a guy: suave and charming, but still gentlemanly. He is gorgeous and funny and just a bit perfect. You thought that maybe, maybe one day he could feel the same.

But it all came crashing down a month ago.

He had come in from a mission that turned out to be a trap, and he wasn’t doing well. They had injected him with some sort of drug, and he was sitting perfectly silent but with a wild look in his eyes. The second you touched him, though, he went crazy. He threw you backwards into a wall and started decimating the room. It took 4 sedation darts and 10 men to hold him down. You had a concussion and had to take 2 weeks off to heal, but in that time you never once blamed Bucky. He blamed himself, though, and had requested to get a different nurse practitioner. He avoided your floor, didn’t answer your calls, and disappeared from your life. You had done everything to try and pin him down- save going to his room and knocking down the door. As you clock out, you head down to the gym to work off some steam. Changing out of your scrubs, you head to the weight room and start stretching. Out of the corner of your eye you see a flash of silver and some familiar eyes. Your head whips to the side, and sees Bucky trying to sneak out of the room. Jumping to your feet, you start chasing the soldier down the hallways. You manage to catch up with Bucky, and yank on his metal wrist. He freezes in place and whips around, eyes wide. He scrambles backwards.

“Don’t touch me, (Y/N). I don’t want to hurt you,” he says lowly.

His eyes are wild, and you can practically see guilt pouring out of him.

“Bucky…” you say as if talking to a wild animal.

“No, (Y/N)! Stop! I’m dangerous; I could have killed you! Why would you even want to see me?” He yells at you.

“Because you are not dangerous, James Buchanan Barnes! It is not your fault- they injected you with drugs, Bucky! You had no control. It could have been anybody. And you weren’t even close to killing me- I just had a concussion! Not even a major one! So stop running from me!” You plead.

He’s silent, and his eyes search yours. He breaks the eye contact, and swallows hard.

“I just… I may not have had control. But I still… I can still see you lying on the floor at the bottom of the wall. If you had hit your neck or head or spine on the wall first.. at that force? You would be…” He shakes his head, slow and even.

You cup his jaw with your palm, and hold him in place.

“But I didn’t. And now, our scientist are working on a serum to combat the drug. It won’t affect you anymore. So please, let’s go back to normal. Just forget this ever happened,” you beg.

“I wish I could forget, (Y/N). But the images are burned into my mind. I can’t take chances like that: getting close to someone like I got close to you. I’ve proved it time and time again that I just hurt people I love. Thank you for reminding of that.”

He removes your hand, and turns to go. The way he looks as he leaves is the picture you keep scorched in your mind for years to come.


	7. Sam Wilson/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I really hope you're enjoying this collection of reader inserts! Just like to remind you that I do take requests, and at this point feel free to request more than one time. Or maybe you just have a song lyric pertaining to temperature stuck in your head, and would just like me to use it: I would love that. Anyway, thanks so much for reading!  
> Enjoy! =D

                                                  _“Can't cha feel the fire burning? Can't cha feel the pulsation of my heart?”~My Love is on Fire, Stevie Wonder._

Sam Wilson is blind.

Not literally, but when it comes to the relationship between you two, he might as well be. You two form a cliché unrequited love story: you two grew up in the same apartment building (next door to each other, to make it more cheesy), and have been close friends all your life. Somewhere along the way, you fell in love with him. Even so, you never told him  and he got away.

Except, he came back.

In fact, he comes back as often as one can while being a soldier. He comes to see you. His mom had died a few years back, but he keeps his apartment nonetheless (to keep an eye on you, he teases). It works out great, because you also still live in your parent’s tiny apartment, even though they are long gone. You still sleep in your childhood bedroom, too- the one that directly shares a wall with Sam’s. Growing up, your room had been a source of magic and love, but also pain and heartbreak. The best days were the days you would tap the melody to a song on the wall, and he would tap back with another song. It was something you always loved. But nights when he would bring home girls far prettier than you, far smarter than you, far more elegant than you… those nights all you could hear was the pounding of his headboard against the wall. Nowadays, his room is silent.

And tonight… tonight is different.

The two of you had celebrated his return from deployment at a local bar, but the entire time he was tense. It was like he couldn’t relax- like something was coming for him. He had thanked you and kissed your cheek as he slid into his apartment. It set butterflies in your chest, but you swallowed them. It’s near midnight now, and all is silent. Through the wall, you hear a bloodcurdling scream. Ripping off your blankets, you tear out of your apartment and use the spare key he gave you to open the door. Heading back to his bedroom, you see him writhing on the bed. His face is in panic mode and he’s sweating. Rushing to his side, you shake him awake and he juts up in bed.

“It’s okay, Sam! You’re okay! Don’t be scared- you’re safe!” You whisper, and bring him into your arms.

He cries into your shoulder, mumbling nonsensical words about guns and dying and guilt. It breaks your heart. After a while, he pulls away and looks at you with blood-shot eyes.

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to do this; you can go back to bed.” He rasps.

You’re shocked: how could he even think that you could leave him like this? He may not know you love him, but surely he knows that you would do anything for him!

“No, I’m gonna stay right here with you. You need me, and so I’m staying.”

There’s a silence as you both crawl back under the covers. He plays with his blanket for a while, looking at you.  Sam takes a shaky breath, and reaches out for you. Spooning, he delivers the line that burns your heart, and has burned it for years.

“You’re my best friend, you know that, (Y/N)?”

How can he be so blind as to not see how passionately in love with him you are?

 


	8. Thor/Reader

                                                            _“Hot blooded, I'm a little bit high. Hot blooded, you're a little bit shy”_ _~Foreigner, Hot Blooded_

Ever since you can remember, Asgard has been a lively place. With drinking, dancing, singing and parties every night in at least one part of the realm, what more could you expect? You are an Asgardian, born and raised here until you turned 523, at which point you wanted to see life beyond Heimdall and the rainbow bridge. You packed your bags and hitch-hiked across the galaxy; you spent time in just about every place you possibly could. Occasionally you stopped back home, but the stars seemed to just call your name. You felt that you were born to be a wanderer and a gypsy (as the Misgardians would say). Now that you’re turning 1,825, though, you think it’s time to permanently return home from your journeys. It didn’t take long for you to settle in and for word of your permanent return to reach all ears in the kingdom. In true Asgardian fashion, Odin decided to throw a banquet in your honor.

And so here you are, laced up in a flowy white dress, swaying back and forth as you watched your people do a dance you can only describe as a quicker and more graceful version of the waltz. The music is lovely, but not as lovely as you heard on the planet-

“Your body suggests you are here, Lady (Y/N), but your eyes say otherwise. You seem… how do the Misgardians say it? Ah, a thousand miles away,” Prince Thor breaks into your thoughts.

You jump, and blush furiously. You had always had a bit of a thing for the handsome prince, who seems to only have gotten more attractive in the time you’ve been away.

“I apologize, your highness. The honor you have bestowed upon me with this banquet in my name is insurmountable. I truly cannot repay you,” You stutter out, trying to remain eloquent.

Thor laughs heartily and brings your hand to his mouth to bestow it a kiss. He links arms with you and whisks you off towards the gardens. Shell-shocked, you try to keep up with his long stride.

“Enough with the titles, (Y/N). A woman of such knowledge and experience in this universe is worth much more than a measly prince. Just call me Thor, I beg of you,” he chuckles out.

“Of course, Pri- Thor.”

The gardens are illuminated by his spirit as you step out onto the grassy turf. He positively beams brighter than any star you’ve ever seen. In a very un-princely fashion, he drops down onto the ground and pulls you down with him. Thor is quiet for a minute.

“When you left, I didn’t think you would be gone away that long.”

You sit up, and look at him.

“You… you noticed me before my travels?”

“Of course, (Y/N). Must I remind you of every time you used to help me find my way through the hall of books? Or the sparring lessons I gave you before you left?” Thor chuckles, and it vibrates against you.

Oh.

“It seemed like every time you came to visit, I was off somewhere doing Odin knows what. I suppose it makes seeing you now a bit overwhelming, seeing how much you’ve changed.”

“Overwhelming?”

“In the best way possible, (Y/N).”

You lay back on the grass beside him, heart racing. Your blood is boiling, sitting next to the god of thunder. You feel a bit dizzy, but not at all faint. Rather light, but not light-headed. Out of every realm you have been to, nobody has come close to making you feel this way. You feel a blush painting your cheeks, but it’s nothing to the red that stains your cheeks when Thor’s warm lips touch your own.

The sparks that occur right then start a burning passion between you two, and neither of you want to put out the flames.

 


	9. Tony Stark/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you ever have this desire for one of your friends to find your fan-works and not even know it's you, but obsess over it anyway? And then one day just like have them show up to school like "I have this fic I want to show you!!!!" and it's YOURS. You wouldn't tell them it's yours, but you would try and subtly do things that they think would be awesome. I feel like that would be the coolest. 
> 
> Excuse the real-life headcanon.

   _“Your bitter heart cold to the touch, now I'm gonna reap what I sow.” ~_ _Stitches, Shawn Mendes_

__

It had been a rash decision to let yourself fall in love with Tony Stark.

You are Mr. Stark’s new assistant, the third one since Pepper died of an aneurysm three years ago. You are everything Pepper was not: soft-spoken, not sharp-tongued at all, and a bit too whimsical. As a young adult it made people doubt you chose the right major, but in the end it has gotten you to the top, hasn’t it? Tony certainly doesn’t mind. It’s a nice change, he says. His life has been all rushing business ever since he can remember, and so you figure it must be nice to have you around. And unlike Pepper, you don’t try to  tame his eccentricness. Some days you’d even  find yourself sitting on one of his workbenches with goggles on and a fire extinguisher in your hands. The days were short while spent with Mr.Stark. And so you decided to let yourself fall in love with him.

Life had been going swimmingly since your decision, and you perhaps even saw reciprocation from him.

That is, until tonight.

You haven’t seen Tony all day, and that is to be expected… it’s the anniversary of Pepper’s death. Still, the man had to come out of his workshop at some point, and you figure it might jolt him into action if he knows you are going home. Heels clicking down the stairs, you stop at the bottom of the stairs and are met with a horror scene. The workshop looks like the Hulk has passed through it, and at the center of it all sits Tony with his back facing you. He’s fiddling with his chest, and his arch reactor lays abandoned on the table. You rush inside, and he clicks a few more pieces into place before he turns around.  A new arch reactor lays within his chest, and tears have painted his face. You two stare in silence at each other for a moment. Suddenly, he shoves the arch reactor on the table into your hands.

“… Tony?” You ask, voice shaking.

“Don’t call me that, (Y/N). It’s Mr. Stark to you. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

The silence pierces your heart, and your hands have been chilled by the surprisingly cold heart in your hands.

“What am I doing, sir?”

He gives no reply, but swipes tools littering the counter onto the floor. He turns around, veins in his neck bulging.

“YOU’RE TRYING TO REPLACE HER! You think I don’t know that you’re trying to win my love, my affection, so that you can replace her? You don’t think I notice the doe eyes you give me when my back is turned? I do, (Y/N), and guess what? I once loved a woman, and she died a horrible death. A death I should have seen coming. And now you waltz in here, innocent and enthusiastic, thinking you could be lucky enough to be the next Mrs. Stark? No. No.” He screams in your face, eyes turning dark with rage.

Your eyes fill with tears, and you choke back sobs as he continues destroying his workshop.

“I’m not in love with you, Mr. Stark. I am not trying to replace Mrs. Pepper Stark. I think it’s simply the day that’s been getting you confused because you’re just my boss, sir. Nothing more, nothing less.”

The words rip out your heart and place it your palm beside Tony’s frigid, old one.

Tony stops, and stares at you. He clears his throat, and straightens his shoulders.

“You’re probably right, (Y/N). I probably just need some sleep. Take the reactor and toss in the trash on the way out. I’ll… I’ll put a bonus in your account for this. I just need some sleep.”

Not an apology and not what you wanted to hear, either. Still, you put on a straight face and make your way back upstairs. The short car ride down to the end of the driveway features you numbly clutching your boss’s old heart in your hand. As you step out and open the trash can, you can’t help but feel hopeless at how cold Ton- Mr.Stark’s heart is.

It’s like holding a block of ice.

Dumping it quickly into the trashcan, you slam the lid and get back into your car. Angrily wiping away tears, you can’t help but laugh at yourself. You made your choice to fall in love with Tony Stark, and now you have to live with him as your boss. You only hope the ice that has been injected into your veins will freeze over you heart, just like Tony’s. It might make the pain a little easier to bear.


	10. Clint Barton/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently working on two requests and wanted to thank you guys. They really challenge and inspire me, so keep 'em coming! Enjoy!

          _“Frozen in time, can't control what's inside of me”~Frozen In Time, Chimaira_

Gifts are supposed to be given in generosity and kindness. They are supposed to be good things: things that help, things that entertain, things that are beautiful. Your gift, however, is none of the above.

You have the power to make people commit suicide.

It’s a terrible power, and one that has destroyed you. You’re always on guard; you’re constantly tensed and alert. You can never lose control. That first time you watched your power in action was when you made your own father stab himself in the chest, and you had no way to stop yourself. You were only 13, and you had to watch as his face contorted in agony as the tears poured down his face. He screamed, calling you a monster and a demon. A week later, S.H.I.E.L.D. came knocking on your door. Now 8 years later, you are a regular agent. Your partner, Clint Barton, is a bright-eyed and witty agent with a perfect aim. If you could ever self-indulge, he would be the one person you would  let yourself love. He knows you have powers, but never pushes to know what they are. He’s always there to take some of the edge off your constant self-torture. He also has an idea of what it’s like to watch someone you love die right in front of your eyes.

But you can’t afford to let down your walls for someone just to let them press a gun against their forehead.

Swallowing back pain, you focus. You’re on a mission, not on Dr.Phil. Losing sight of your goal could kill you. Your gun is pointed straight at your target, ready to complete your duty as a sniper. Clint watches your back. It’s too easy to pull the trigger, and watch as the man dies within seconds. Suddenly, a bullet whizzes over your head, and Clint has dragged you behind a tree.

“We’re being ambushed, (Y/N)! I hope you killed that guy ‘cause we’ve got company!” He yells as he loads an arrow.

He leans around the tree and lets loose a bomb arrow.

“I did, now run!” You yell in reply.

The two of you run from your enemies, darting between trees and jumping over fallen branches. Bullets chase you, slamming into trees just inches from your body. About a hundred feet in front of you, a group of men drop from the trees and land with their guns pointed at you. You go to turn to the side, but you find the group behind you has curved around you two. Clint moves to stand back-to-back with you, breathing hard.

“(Y/N)... I know that you don’t like to talk about your gift, but right about now we could use some backup power,” Clint whispers to you.

“Clint, if I use my powers I could kill you with them. I won’t do that,” you harshly reply.

“Well at this point we’re both gonna die, so at least one of us will survive. And who knows- I’m pretty hard to kill, (Y/N). Just do it.”

Knowing that you have no other choice, you put away your gun. You try to connect only to the bodies of the men trying to kill you, attempting to avoid Clint’s. Praying, you take control of their will to live. Twisting it, you watch as their pupils widen, leaving them with only a minute ring of color. Their arms twist and weapons find themselves pushed against temples, hearts, and lips. Like the symphony of a horrid orchestra, all of them let out a horrible melody of death. You hold your breath, watching their bodies hit the floor. You stand frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from from their writhing bodies. And with the wave of an invisible hand, the screams stop. It is silent. Turning with robotic motions, you turn to face your partner. His eyes are wide, and he stares back at you.

“You…” He trails off.

You can’t handle his rejection, and tears pour from your eyes as you turn your face.

“You saved us.”

You spin around in disbelief.

“I killed them in the cruelest way possible, Clint. That is not worthy of praise,” you sob.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tight. It’s hard to breathe, but the embrace is holding you together, freezing your broken pieces back together.

“They had to die, (Y/N). It was us or them. You saved us.”

You cling to the words as the horror scene around you imprints itself behind your eyelids.


	11. Steve Rogers/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 request fulfilled- hope you like it! You guys are spectacular! Keep doing what you're doing cause it's great motivation! Thanks for being patient, too!  
> Enjoy!

_“Let me, let me, let me freeze again to death.” ~Cold Song, Sting_

This is impossible.

You’re sobbing into your hands, trying to avoid looking at the plastic stick laying on the floor in front of you. Everyone said it would never be possible, and if you tried it would just end in failure.

They were wrong, though. The stick with the two dark pink lines proved that you could, in fact, get pregnant.

You are the daughter of Tony Stark, one of the world’s greatest minds. It makes sense that you developed his brains and passion for the maths and sciences. And considering you grew up around Dr.Banner, it makes sense you would be interested in radioactive and nuclear things. Also, your job made you develop powers of creating powerful toxins and chemicals within your body. Therefore, it makes sense that you joined the Avengers with your dad. But, your powers decimated any chance of you being able to have children ever. THAT MAKES SENSE.

Except...now it doesn’t.

Because you’ve got Steve Roger’s baby growing in your uterus at this very moment. Legs and hands shaking, you use the sink to drag yourself up. You fumble for the faucet and blindly splash water on your face. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you wonder how Steve and your dad are going to react. You turn off the water, and grab the test off the floor with quaking limbs. The short walk from the bathroom door to where Steve is pulling on his running sneakers seems like miles. Tony isn’t even aware Steve sneaks into your room late at night and leaves early in the morning. He thinks you’re still his virgin little angel and that Steve would be too old-fashioned to make a move.

“Steve?” Your voice is tiny, barely taking up any of the room.

He finishes with his laces, and doesn’t look at you.

“Why were you crying in the bathroom, (Y/N)?” He asks somewhat coldly for him.

You numbly place the test in his lap, and hold your breathe. He picks it up, and stares at it for a little.

“Is this supposed to mean anything? What’re the pink lines for?” He asks while frowning.

“It means I’m pregnant, Steve.”

The stick clatters to the floor, and bounces a few times before stopping. The room is silent except for your quiet crying. Steve swallows, and stands. He reaches out for you, but stops.

“I’m… I’m gonna go for my run. We’ll talk about this when I get back.”

As the door shuts you collapse onto the bed. Doubt and self-hatred swirl in your mind, and wonder how on Earth your dad will react if Steve acted that coldly. You wish you could just freeze time and not exist right now.

It’s an hour before he comes back, which is fifteen minutes longer than usual.

The clock likes to mock you, each tick-tock saying he’s not coming back. Suddenly, there’ footsteps outside your door and you swing upwards in bed, staring down the door pleading for it to be- Steve wraps his sweaty arms around you, and holds you close.

“I’m sorry. In my head, I sometimes forget that I’m not that little kid from Brooklyn anymore. It gets jumbled in my head why you would ever want to have a baby with the likes of me. Other times, I can’t see to remember why a doll like you would want to be with a phony-macho-man like me because I’m just someone’s science experiment. So don’t get it in that head of yours that I’m leaving you, or I don’t want this baby. Because I love you and our baby.”

You sob into his sweaty chest, clinging to him. You know that at least if your dad disowns you, you’ll have Steve.

Your hands shake as you set a glass of gin in your dad’s hand, smiling weakly.

“Thanks, angel,” he grins at you.

Nodding, you go to sit next to Steve on the couch. He grips your hand tightly. With the Avengers all gathered for a party, you know that you have to make the baby announcement now. Clearing your throat, everyone looks at you and Steve.

“We have an announcement to make!” Steve says, projecting to the multiple Avengers around the room.

“What, are you two pregnant?” Your Uncle Rhodey laughs.

You both are silent, staring at him.

“Oh.”

Where Steve was silent, your dad is loud. He bolts up, and stares at you with hard eyes.

“(Y/N), how could you be so stupid? ” He yells, and storms out of the room.

Tears well in your eyes, and you run after him.

“Dad. Dad. Dad! DAD!” You yell after him, chasing him into the elevator and hopping on.

Slamming the “close-doors” button, you stare sadly at your father who had his arms crossed.

“Dad. Please, talk to me.”

He grinds his teeth, and looks up at the ceiling. Slowly, he unravels and sighs.

“You’re supposed to be better than I am, (Y/N).” He confesses, swallowing.

You pull him into a hug, and he begins to whisper in your ear.

“I got a girl pregnant, (Y/N). And thank God that little girl happened, because she is my little angel. She’s the most perfect, smartest little girl a dad could ask for. She doesn’t sleep around like her Dad did, she doesn’t drink too much like her Dad does, and she’s a lot nicer than her Dad ever could be. That girl is you. You’re supposed to get married, buy a house with a big yard, get a dog, and then have babies. You’re supposed to get the fullest life. You’re so young. I just want what’s best for you, and only the best.”

“But Dad, what other guy is going to respect me, honor me, and love me better than Steve? Come on dad, you know I was never meant to be a quiet housewife, anyway. I’m not exactly like you but I do have a lot of you in me. This life may not be perfect, but it’s the one I’ve chose and fate just hands me the cards. So, do you forgive me?” You say.

He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“Nothing to forgive. But Steve better watch his back.”

You know he’s not kidding.


	12. Steve Rogers/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for being patient and for giving this huge burst of hits, bookmarks and comments! I have midterms next week and it was just Halloween and... boy! It really helps to know that you guys are sticking around even when I wait super long to update. This was a request from a lovely reader and I'm really sorry this took so long!!! Hope this makes up for me being away!   
> Kisses and Hugs from me to you!

_"Before you play with fire, do think twice. And if you get burned, don't be surprised" -Sugar, Robin Schulz_

Before Captain America went to war, or went on a tour, or was even injected with the super soldier serum, there was a scrawny little guy from New York named Steve. He weighed less than a hundred pounds, and couldn’t have been taller than 5’3”, but you never cared. He was the most polite, honest, and sweet man you ever met- and you have met plenty of men over the years. Instantly you were caught up in his eyes: they constantly changed colors, never staying the same light shade for long. Bucky, your mutual friend, had sworn he was a shy fellow but was proven wrong that night. Steve had asked for your number and a second date, which you gladly agreed to. It wasn’t long until you two were going steady.

And then the war started.

For months it seemed like the only thing Steve wanted was to enlist, and while you worried, you still supported him. You were his shoulder to lean on when he got rejected time after time. It became an obsession for Steve: he travelled all over to get accepted but nothing seemed to give. Finally, he was given his break by a Dr. Erskine, and was deployed to a training camp. Tearfully whispering goodbye, you made him promise to come home to you.

“I can’t leave my best girl and dancing partner out on the swing floor by herself, now can I? I promise to come home,” He said.

Off he went, and he wrote to you every chance he could. Never once did he complain about the strenuous days or the terrible food like your friend’s beaus did. Steve was just happy to be there. One day, Steve wrote to you that he had been offered a way to make him a “super soldier”. He didn’t give details, or any specifics at all, just ranted about how he hoped this wouldn’t change anything between the two of you. You promised it wouldn’t. For a long time, you never recieved a letter. Every morning you ran to the mailbox with bated breath, waiting to see his curving handwriting on a letter. After radio silence for a while, there was a single letter in your mailbox one day.

From a Captain Steve Rogers.

Your loveable Steve told you that he had been made into a bigger man by this doctor. You had assumed it was a good gain of strength, or some extra mental grit. He still sounded the same as he always did. How could you have known? Included was a poster for a national tour of “Captain America”. It never struck you to be Steve, not even for a second. Your guy wasn’t some dumb jock with all muscles and no brains. He wasn’t the type to dance on stage with scantily clad women. He suggested you two meet up at a show in New York, saying that he would be there for a week or so. Of course you agreed! Backstage is where you would meet. The night came and you were escorted backstage into Captain America’s dressing room. The sight of a wide and muscular back met your eyes.

“I’m looking for Captain Steve Rogers?” You asked him.

Imagine your surprise when he turned around to reveal that he indeed was Steve Rogers. Steve explained everything, and while it took some adjustment you got used to it. He invited you to tour with him, and be by his side. You agreed of course.

The next few months were hell.

Steve was the same old Steve, but it seemed like he was amazed by all the attention, especially the female kind. You heard night and day about how handsome and great Steve is, and you wondered why nobody noticed that before he was transformed. You started comparing yourself to every girl Steve met, wondering how he could possibly stay with you now that he had all these options. It tore you to shreds. And to see Peggy Carter jitterbug on up to Steve like a fly to honey… that was the last straw. She was an army woman: brave and strong and beautiful and lovely and graceful and- and- and. How?

How could you possibly compete?

No. There was no way.

You left in the night, shrouded in your unhappiness. Within a week it seemed that Peggy Carter had replaced you in Steve’s heart. He deserved the best. How could you be angry with him, or anyone except yourself? From the moment you saw Steve you knew he was destined for greatness. Back when he was a tiny man from New York, you saw the flames in his eyes. You shouldn’t be surprised that you got burned. That’s what happens when you play with fire. Now you have to watch him burn brighter than any star in the sky while you tend to your wounds from a distance.

__

But you wouldn’t have it any other way.

_****  
_


	13. Steve Rogers/Reader (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Quite a few of you have requested a second part to the last Steve/Reader, so who am I to deny you? Super excited from the feedback! Hope you enjoy the last part of this two-shot!   
> And heads-up, I have mid-terms this week so I might not get to update that much this week. Hang tight and your patient will pay off! Thanks!

_"You know it's an illusion...There is no fire burning... just a soul crying.”- Fire Burning, Stevie Nicks_

There might be a big man in the mirror, but that’s not who he sees on the inside. The big man is handsome, with broad shoulders, large biceps and legs that can run for miles without tiring. But on the inside he is just a pawn being played. And as much as he can swear to Agent Carter that it’s better than what he could be doing, he knows that’s not true. He’s just as much of a monkey on stage as he would be in a lab. So, he did what he normally does in his times of need.

Steve reached out for you.

In his entire life, he’s never been as lucky as he was to get you. He was a sickly kid that never grew out of it, an orphan without a home, and an artist with no “serious” job. Yet, he somehow managed to get you. This gorgeous dame with the patience of a saint, and Lord knows he tested it. He couldn’t count how many times you put up with his patriotic spiels about how the military is so great, and the millions of different things they’ve done since the founding of America. It makes sense that he would cling to the person that has been the torch to light his path. He needed to tell you about his transformation sooner or later, anyway.

As soon as he heard your voice, asking where Captain Steve Rogers was, he was so sure he made the right decision to keep him going. When he revealed his identity to you, he feared you were going to pass out. Setting you down on his dressing room couch, he passed you a glass of water. Your eyes searched his, for what he couldn’t begin to guess. Finally, it was like coming home when you wrapped your arms around him.  

The next few months were heaven compared to before.

He woke up every morning and only had to knock on the door next to his to see you. You two had breakfast together every day, and you watched him practice the routine for a couple hours. Then you two would take a dinner break and he performs his show. He stuck around to sign autographs and you would two meet in the parking lot for the couple hours drive to the next destination. The attention was weird at first, but he slowly got used to the blushing girls and the wiggly babies. With your endless support, he felt on top of the world. He barely even noticed when he started seeing you less. At first, you would skip his practices to go sight-seeing. In the end, he only saw you when driving in the van to the next city.

He would beat him self into a pulp if he could.

Steve wishes he could step out of his body and slam his fists over and over into himself until nothing but the little guy he was before remains. He has become a bully, nothing more and nothing less. You leaving him made him realize that. Every single screaming girl he pulled into his chest with a smile, every dancer that he winked at, every agent he made doll eyes at… you really are a saint. He has become a big man, but he has never been lower before in his life. He is scraping rock bottom with his fingernails. It is late, about six hours later than he said he would be back at the room. But considering the still-burning coffee you left to weigh down the note- Steve, you deserve so much better- you can’t be far gone. He drives all night long, and still can’t find you. The stage producer is pissed that he’s late to rehearsal, but ecstatic that you’re gone. The perfect opportunity for romance.

A romance with Agent Carter.

Within the week, some “candid” photos of Steve and his “new lover” plaster the front covers. He wants to puke, and he can tell Peggy is putting on a happy face to be the optimistic one in this situation. Movies, songs, and television shows are based around him and his girl. How deep can salt be rubbed into a wound? Steve wishes he could know where you are. When he finally gets shipped out to Europe, he feels the last bit of his spirit for this tour drain out of him. How can he go on doing this? Everything is a blur up until saving Bucky. For the first time in a long time, he feels like he has a purpose. Getting back to camp is soothing and inflammatory at the same time. But then, you are there. You are leaning against the stage, standing next to Peggy. You look so tiny with your arms wrapped around yourself. So much smaller than he remembers. Excusing himself, he cuts across the muddy ground to you.

You make a step towards him.

“(Y/N)... how?” Steve asks, at a loss for words.

Another step towards him.

“I got a call from Peggy here saying the troops needed rallying,” You say tearfully.

Steve wraps you in a bear hug, squeezing you as close to him as possible.  You let loose a round of sobs into his chest. Steve even tears up himself as he leans down to your ear.

“Never ever tell me that I deserve better. You are the best woman that I have ever had in my life and I’ll be damned before I stop loving you. You hear me?” Steve whisper fiercely in your ear.

You hear him loud and clear as you cling to him like a lifeboat in the middle of a frozen sea.


	14. James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm super happy to tell you guys that over the last month, you guys have about doubled the hits, comments, bookmarks and kudos! I really can't thank you guys enough! Another note, I've already done a lot of Steve/Reader and still want requests for him, but we can't forget the other hunks! So what would you like to see for Tony, Clint, Pietro, Bruce, Thor, Sam and Bucky? Comment below! 
> 
> Thanks, and happy reading =D

_“I picture us frozen in time, just you and I standing still. Now everything's changed outside the frame.”~ Paul Brandt, Outside the Frame_

__

Bucky is ladies’ man at heart.

He knows how to make ‘em swoon at his feet with just a look. He knows the words to make them throw themselves at him. He knows the moves to make them keep coming back, too.

It’s something you can’t deny anymore.

For years, Bucky, Steve, and you had been childhood friends. You knew him as the goofy, gangly kid that couldn’t care a bit about girls. You don’t know where that changed. It was like one day turning around and suddenly he wasn’t behind you. Instead, he was leaning against the schoolhouse walls trying to flirt with Suzette Williams. You have no idea where he got the skills, though. It makes you sick.

But you can never let him know that.

So every Saturday you third-wheel with Steve on what should be a double date for the two men (but ends up being two girls for Bucky). You put on your fake red-lipped smile and paint your cheeks with blush-happiness. Paired with one of your colorful dresses, you almost fool yourself. What keeps you going is the mental picture you have frozen in the back of your mind. Back when days never seemed long enough, and it was just you, Steve, and Bucky against the streets of New York. The image of scraped knees and bruised elbows and dirty hands almost keeps the melting smile on your face as you watch Bucky with girl after girl.

Almost.

But it doesn’t, not when the edges of the picture are frostbitten from the freezing of Bucky’s womanizing heart. And it certainly doesn’t help that yours is hardening as well.


	15. Bruce Banner/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT?!?!?!? A DOUBLE UPDATE?   
> Yeah, procrastination in studying does wonders for my inspiration.

_“Wherever we are, we're frozen in time. There's a pathway to heaven that we couldn't find. ” ~ Athenaeum,  Frozen In Time_

You can’t breathe.

The air is fine, your lungs are working and you’re not in an emergency.

But you can’t breathe.

You know Bruce is not doing this to hurt you, but you wouldn’t be human not to consider that maybe he likes to rip the carpet from underneath you. Since he’s done it so many times, why else? Why else would he constantly call himself a monster, and you his angel? Why else would he shove you away after you thought that maybe this time… this time would be different. That maybe this time he would stay. That maybe this time he would see himself as you see him. That maybe this time he wouldn’t leave you.

But just like every other time, you were wrong.

He goes off to save Sokovia, and for the first time the light has returned to his eyes. He swears that this is the time you two will run off together. Together, you two will have the next big adventure. Or the quiet life.

“Up to you!” He laughed lightheartedly.

“Up to me.” You mouth without a wisp of air.

You rush into the bathroom and let loose the contents of your stomach. You hug the bowl; the toilet is your anchor in this sea of madness.  Are you doomed to forever live this way? Clinging to a shitty situation that feels like ice shards in your chest?

Is there no road out of Hell?

 


	16. Pietro Maximoff/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank Google Translate and procrastination for this chapter.

_“He's c-cold as ice. He's a cold-hearted snake, look into his eyes.”~Cold Hearted Snake, Kat Graham_

Refuse to meet his eyes.

They say eyes are windows to the soul, and for once you can’t help but remark how true that is. Pietro’s soul has been frozen solid from bitterness, and his piercing blue eyes reflect that perfectly. And as he screams in Sokovian that you’ve always run from your problems, you wonder why now you should look into his eyes and face them. He’s raving mad: yelling about how this is your chance to come with him to live a better life. His sister is already on board with going into the Hydra program, so why aren’t you?

_“Because I have not been poisoned by blind rage for a man I do not even know,”_ You reply cooly in your native tongue.

He flips a chair, and it smacks hard against the wall, and then the floor. Pietro is livid.

“I waz ah child, (Y/N)! Ah babe snahtched out of eet’s crahdle! Forced to bhe a fahzer to my own sizter- my twen sizter! Blind? My rage ees not blind- I see clearly ahs ever!” He screams, his accent thickening the English beyond recognition.

_“Then why do you scream as such, Pietro? Why are you so angry?”_ You ask.

“Bechause yhu, my **floare delicata** , are detearmened to leave us! Wanda and I are yhour only fahmily. What whill yhu do wizhout us? Stahrve in dhe streets?” Pietro acusses.

“Starve in dhe… Pietro I ahm not a child. I whill pick up sohme extrah shefts at my johb and kep leeving here. Yhu may want to bhe “gifted” but I do not. I whill not seek vengance on those who wheesh to smite me. They whill be punished fhor dheir crhimes soon enough wizout our help,” You cry.

Silence.

A hand wraps under your chin and you struggle against as it forces your eyes up to look at his. Refuse to look into… the baby blues hit you like a freight train. How could a man pack that much emotion into two tiny body parts?

“Come wiz us, (Y/N). Bhe gifted wiz us. Yhu hav never regretted steeking wiz us behfore,” He whispers.

You force your eyes away from his, ripping the hand from under your chin.

“Zhat was bhefore your soul frooze ohver cumpletely, Pietro,” You hiss at him.

….

“Dhen seek me no more, **unul a pierdut** ,” He whispers.

“Ahf course, **suflet degerat** ,” You reply.

Your front door slams shut.

 ****  


Translations:

**Floare delicata** \- Delicate flower

 **Unul a pierdut** \- Lost one

 **Suflet degerat** \- Frostbitten soul


	17. Pietro Maximoff/Reader (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YA'LL ARE THE BEST BECAUSE I HAVEN'T UPDATED BUT YOU'RE STILL READING SO TREAT YOURSELF TO SOMETHING NICE AND CONSIDER IT A GIFT FROM ME. This was a request for a second part, so here you go! Kisses and Hugs! Hope you enjoy!

_“I got the right temperature for shelter you from the storm”~Temperature, Sean Paul_

Three years, in the span of a lifetime, are practically insignificant. Compared to the average lifespan of 80 years or so, three years is nothing. But staring into Pietro Maximoff’s eyes, three years feels like a lifetime. You are not the children you once were- no, you both grew up the hard way. Especially since Pietro and Wanda went to Hydra. While you struggled to make ends meet, they struggled just to hold themselves together. What Hydra did to them… it made them powerful, but at what cost? Sanity in times such as these is a hard thing to hold onto.

And to you, it seemed like the Maximoff twins were barely clinging to theirs.

You couldn’t believe it. Three years ago, you had this same exact conversation when Pietro wanted you to be experimented on by Hydra. When he and Wanda came back six months ago, you thought that they had learned their lesson. True, they had taken to stealing, but it was to give to the poor, the destitute, and the lifeless. But here he was, begging you to come with him to serve some humanoid robot that wants to destroy Tony Stark.

You’re speechless.

You almost find it ironic that the eyes that you refused to look into are now the ones you can’t look away from. You would laugh if you could tear yourself from Pietro’s eyes. But it’s like watching a car wreck: you can’t pull away until you see the blood and guts. And boy, are they coming.

“(Y/N)... whe’re sohrry. Dhat is a shitty ahpology, but what else can I do to make yhu forgive us and make yhu cohme wiz us” Pietro begged, his traitorous blue eyes pleading with you.

You laugh, cold and loud like a hurricane .

“Zhere is nothing to be said, Pietro. You are still the same bitter heart yhu were before. I cannot be dregged into this madness any longer,” You say.

He is silent.

“Yhour accent has... thinned. Have…”Pietro trails off.

“Yes, I have been prackticing English. Yhu say that yhu whill not go without me, but I shall not leabe without you, **dragoste rupt**. I plan to move to America. Yhu and Wanda should come to dhe States with me. We could live a better life, Pietro. No more suffering and pain,” You say, eyes shining with hope.

“And what of dhe rest of Sokovia, hm? Whill yhu let zhem suffer in yhour stead?” Pietro hisses.

“What good shall yhu do fpr dem as a slave to a mahchine?”

Pietro’s eyes do not meet yours for once. The reversal of roles is so chilling you can’t help but wonder if you are changing fate with this moment. The icy blues do not stay from yours very long.

“I vonce said to yhu terrible things to get you to come wiz me to Hydra. Why do yhu not speak as I did dhen? I dehserve it and more,” Pietro whispers.

You wrap a hand under his chin, and bring his lips to yours. His lips are chapped and rough from wind whipping against them. You love them anyway. Breaking apart, Pietro rests his forehead against yours.

“I have lohved yhu since our parents died. When dhe bomb hit our apartment building I thought we would all pearish. Or worse, starve in deh streets like rats. But yhu saved me and your sister. Perhaps you only remember caring for yhour sister, but yhu saved me as well. Not just with fud or wader, but with kind words and patience. Yhu never gave up us. I shall never give up on yhu, no matter how stupid you act.”

“ **M-ai finaliza, cealaltă jumătate a mea . Nu merit o femeie la fel de caldă ca tine. Dar nu voi mai încerca** ,” Pietro breathes out.

“ **Tu repara duhul meu , și că numai a fost întotdeauna suficient. Chiar și atunci când ai rupt inima mea încă te -am iubit . Ghici că mă face un prost** ,” You say, laying kisses on his face.

“No,” Pietro breathes out,”no, it makes me the luckiest man on Earth.”

And while you know that the hardships are far from over, it seems that you two stand in the eye of the storm.

****  
  
  
  
  


Translations:

**Dragoste rupt** \- broken love

 **M-ai finaliza, cealaltă jumătate a mea . Nu merit o femeie la fel de caldă ca tine . Dar nu voi mai încerca** -You complete me, my other half. I do not deserve a woman as warm as you. But I shall never stop trying.

 **Tu repara duhul meu , și că numai a fost întotdeauna suficient. Chiar și atunci când ai rupt inima mea încă te -am iubit . Ghici că mă face un prost-** You mend my spirit, and that alone has always been enough. Even when you broke my heart I still loved you. Guess that makes me a fool.


	18. Tony Stark/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone requested this a while ago but I forgot about it and then I remembered but wanted to post the 2nd part to Pietro's last oneshot and... and... here it is. Hope you like it!

_“And the feeling that remains grows stronger by degree when you're gentle to me”~You Gentle Me, Carole King_

It keeps him up at night, lying awake while staring at the ceiling. His black wife beater dims the light of his arc reactor by about 87% (he’s done the math) but it still emits a glow.

He’s been an insomniac ever since you told him that you “weren’t that type of girl and it would be best if he stayed away.” It kills him to know that that reputation of being an asshole and a womanizer still follows him around.  Tony hasn’t slept with a single girl since the incident in Sokovia, and even then it was his first girl since the Battle of New York. He’s been so busy and stressed to even think about picking up women. And for what, anyway? He’s going to get drunk and gamble and talk a big game just to spend 8 hours with some random woman?

No thanks.

But you are not some random woman. Tony occasionally gets asked to visit local colleges for different events like science fairs, invention conventions and the like. It was there he met you, a senior in college majoring in BioMechanics and Advanced Chemistry. Instantly, you two were drawn to each other like magnets. How could you not? You two geeked out over the extremely advanced technology of his heart, and discussed elements which your peers had never even heard of before. It was then he asked you to lunch, and you instantly agreed. After a few dates, or at least what he considered dates, things were going well.

Except they weren’t.

Last week he asked if you’d like to come back to his place for some drinks, and you delivered the blow that still has him reeling. Not that kind of woman… he didn’t WANT you to be that kind of woman! He wants the wonderfully dorky and beautiful girl that you are. For once in his life, he can actually imagine putting a ring on a woman’s finger and carrying her across the threshold. Tony knows you’re younger than him, but that never seemed to bother you. It certainly didn’t bother him- his phone is ringing. He reaches on to his nightstand and unplugs it.

“Speak now or hold your piece until 10 A.M.,” He says, not even looking at the caller ID.

“Tony… Tony I need your help,” You whisper sharply into your phone.

He sits up in bed, throwing off the sheets and shoving his feet onto the floor.

“Where are you?”

You’re breathing heavy, and he can hear the sounds of traffic in the background.

“I’m on the corner of 2nd street and Westbound Avenue. I need you to come get me. Please,” You beg softly.

“I’m coming, just stay on the line!” He says as he folds into his Iron Man suit.

He pushes open the window and fast as he can he flies over to your location. You’re standing on the corner in a jacket too thin for the weather. He makes short work of swooping down to grab you, and fly you back to the tower. His faceplate shifts backwards into his helmet.

“(Y/N), what is it? What happened?” Tony asks frantically.

“I… my friend dragged me to a party. I wasn’t having a good time, and this guy came up to me. He tried to chat me up and then buy me a drink. I only looked away for two seconds, but it was enough. I knew something was wrong when I saw how he was looking at me. When he went to the bathroom I did a test on the drink with a little kit I carry around… thank God I hadn’t drank a lot of it. It had Rohypnol in it- a date rape drug. I got out of there as fast as I could, and it’s been about 30 minutes since I started drinking it. I already am starting to feel some effects,” You whisper softly, tears filling your eyes.

Tony sends the suit off to his work room, and wraps you in a tight hug. He wants to find that guy and tear him limb from limb, but doesn’t want to leave you alone. Suddenly, he feels you slightly sag in his arms. Tears leak from your eyes.

“I’m trusting you here Tony. Above my friends and family, I’m trusting you. Please don’t take advantage of me, Tony,” You beg softly.

He leads you to sit on the edge of his bed and he kneels before you. Taking your hands in his, he kisses them and looks you in the eye.

“I swear that you’re going to be safe here. As much as you think that I’m still the jerk who sleeps around, I’m not. I haven’t been that guy for a while now. Please let me show you that,” Tony says.

You nod, and he presses a kiss to your knees. He goes to his closet and pulls out some  large sweatpants and and t-shirt.

“Happy gave me this for Christmas one year. He said everyone needs some PJ’s that aren’t sleeveless once in awhile. Guess he was right,” Tony quietly jokes.

He helps you stand, and helps you into the bathroom. He stands just outside the door the whole time, waiting for you to call him back in for help. When you’re done, he hobbles you over to his bed and tucks you in. Crawling in beside you, he is gentle and careful not to rock you too much. He attaches a piece of metal to you and asks Jarvis to run a full health analysis.

“Of course, sir,” the AI replies.

You look up at him through your lashes, you giggle. Appeared drunkedness is an effect of date-rape drugs in most cases. You reach up, and cup his chin in your palm. He pries your fingers off, remembering your plea. You look at him shocked. And then, a slow smile comes over your face.

“You know, Tony? I was wrong about you.”

He swallows hard.

“You’re so confident and powerful that it scared me into believing a lie. I tried to hide my feelings, but when you open up to me like this…” You trail off.

You’ve fallen asleep as Tony’s grin splits open wider than it’s been in a long time.

**  
**He’s still gonna hunt down that guy and kick his ass, though


	19. Thor/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all need to win "Most Patient With The Author" Award

_“You should take my temperature- my god, I'm too unwell to be here.”~Take my Temperature, Kaiser Chiefs_

You are freezing to death.

As you lay under magically heated blankets and thick furs from Asgardian beasts, you know this is not an exaggeration. While the natives pay no heed to how low the temperature drops on their home planet, you are forced to deal with it every winter. And as queen, you must grin and bear it. If not for the sake of your subjects, then for your husband Thor. For years, he sacrificed the throne to be on Earth with you. Not once did he complain about a thing, and so the least you can do is the same. But as your toes slowly lose their feeling to frost, you cannot help but swallow down panic. As a fire elemental, it’s extremely unusual for you to be cold. When you are, though, it is never good. The temperature has to be so low that it dims your inner flame, the source of your life. Before your mother died, she often warned you of this. Since it was she who passed you the gift of flames, you figured it wise to listen. She once went on a research trip with your dad to Antartica and collapsed after dinner. If your dad hadn’t gone looking for her, she would have frozen solid on her cabin floor. Feeling the cold spread like mist up your calves, you sit up.

“Thor? Thor?” You push on his shoulder, nudging him awake.

“Hmmm?”He mumbles sleepily.

He reaches up and pulls you back down by your shoulders. Wrapping his arms around you, he snuggles his face into your chest.

“Yes, my Queen?” He asks.

You swallow. Is coldness worth breaking this serenity? As ice travels through your veins, you fear it is necessary.

“Thor, we must head to someplace warmer. I’m... I’m freezing.”

Thor shoots up in bed.

“(Y/N)... you contain a with yourself a blazing fire. How do flames freeze?”He asks bewildered.

“They don’t- unless they’re going out.”

The next few minutes are a blur. Thor is racing around the room, throwing things in bags and calling Mijnior. You try to stand, but you tumble to the ground. Withered like delicate flowers, your frozen legs have betrayed you. Thor scoops you up, and you manage to hide your face in his cloak as you two transport to Earth. You are on the rooftop of the house you keep on Misgard. The sun beats down on you as the humidity instantly skyrockets. Like a fresh breath of spring air, you automatically feel a bit better. Thor takes you to the master bedroom, and sets you under the covers. He brushes your cheek.

“(Y/N), you must not be shy towards me. Frost takes time to overtake flames. You must inform me when your health is not as it should be,” Thor says tenderly.

“I did not wish to worry you,” You excuse, leaning into his touch.

“And these last few minutes did not?” Thor laughs quietly.

You blush, and Thor climbs under the covers with you.

“Sleep now, my wildfire of a queen,” He whispers.


	20. Sam Wilson/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE CIVIL WAR TRAILER!!!!! OH MY LORD, MY LIFE HAS ARRIVED!!!!!  
> So, I figure it's time to let you guys in on a secret. I'm actually working on writing another set of Avenger preferences/imagines/drabbles/oneshots with another theme. The theme is for a specific type of person, though, so not everyone is probably going to want to read it. Also, I think it's probably going to be a bit shorter than this one will end up being. 
> 
> Keep requesting, commenting, kudos-ing, and reading please!!! You guys have been FABULOUS!  
> Kisses and Hugs, LovelyLetters777

_"There's a place where the pain can't touch ya and there's a fire where the heat won't burn ya.”~The Heat, NeedtoBreathe_

Boyfriend Number One was Ronnie Matthews in 10th grade. He was as skinny as a stick and had terrible acne, but he was tall and on the basketball team, so who cared? He asked you to Homecoming, and promptly dumped you the next morning. He was failing Geometry and Biology, anyway.

Boyfriend Number Two was Andrew DiMickson at Juilliard your freshman year. He was a painter and you were a pianist. At first it seemed that he would be the one. Until he left a sketchbook in your dorm filled with Titanic-style drawings of your roommate. That is, “paint-me-like-one-of-your-French-girls” naked. You dumped him, and after failing your Piano Performance and Ear Training Classes you decided maybe this major was not for you.

Boyfriend Number Three was Wade Wilson who worked as… actually, what did he work as? You met the talkative guy at a bar and decided that he was funny enough to keep. You two hit it off, and even talked about moving in together. But eventually you got tired of never getting a word in, and the constant lies. Where did he go for a week, and then come back covered in blood and scars? Wade shrugged off the break-up like it was nothing. He said it never thought it would work out anyway. Apparently you ask too many questions.

Finally, Boyfriend Number Four. The last boyfriend, and so of course the best.

Sam Wilson, the army veteran and Avenger.

You two met through work: you were a secretary at the front desk of the VA, and he was a group therapist and motivational speaker. Every day he would come in and flirt with you, making you blush to your hairline. After being hurt by so many men, you thought that nothing good would come out of dating this ridiculously good-looking guy.

Boy, were you wrong.

After weeks of him flirting, he finally asked you out on a date.  Instead of going out to drink or to some fancy restaurant, he took you back to his place. He cooked you a meal from his childhood while you two sipped on wine. Then, he proceeded to put on your favorite movie (that also happened to be his) and you two fell asleep on his couch. Waking up at sunrise, watching the dawn bathe his face in the colors of flames, you knew that Sam’s love wasn’t going to hurt you. The passion and fire you can see beginning in his eyes isn’t going to burn you, not like the others. His fire is more like coming home after a long day and sitting in front of the fireplace. Or setting up s’mores around a campfire. And with that realization, you allowed your own embers to burst into a glowing, crackling love.

 


	21. Thor/Reader

_"My dear we're slow dancing in a burning room"~Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, John Mayer_

This isn't your world.

The thought strikes you in the middle of the ballroom, clumsily "dancing" with Thor. You two are at one of Tony's extravagant parties celebrating his birthday. Unlike the year Tony destroyed his house and let Rhodey take the War Machine, this party is elegant and classy. Something you were not counting on. Honestly, you wouldn't even be here right now if you hadn't promised Thor you would go... but even that barely kept you from flying out the front door. You two were already on the rocks and seeing how easy him and everyone else flowed to the music made you feel even crappier. Why was Thor even with you? He could be with Sif, who was currently gliding around the floor with some other warrior she obviously didn’t like. Why were you with Thor? Ball gowns, crowns and graceful aren't in your vocab. You're a soldier, who likes to pop open a beer and sling her boots onto the coffee table. You aren't too fond of Asgard, either. Everyday, the list of reasons why you shouldn't be together grows, and it worries you. You wonder if Thor has a list of his own.

"(Y/N). You're getting lost in your head again,"Thor scolds.

You clear your throat and nod. He sighs and pulls you closer to him, his cheek is against your forehead. It doesn't feel right, like this stupid white dress (it makes you look innocent, Thor said. Your ass, innocent)

"You look gorgeous tonight. You look so comfortable in that dress, too. You should start to wear it around your apartment," Thor says, only slightly kidding.

"Right after I set it on fire," You say without humor.

Thor sighs heavily, rolling his eyes.

"There's good old (Y/N). I can always trust you to denounce anything even remotely royal or girly," he says.

You swallow hard, clenching your stomach.

_Don’t cry, don’t you dare cry._

“Thor, can we step outside for a second?” You ask.

He nods, and whisks you out as side door and onto a balcony. The air is dry and hot, stifling any of the reasons why you and Thor are together. Thor joins you at the railing that overlooks a shining city of lights and bustle. Thor sighs.

“You don’t want to be queen of Asgard.”

The tears building in your eyes spill out, letting the slow burn you’ve been holding in become a roaring fire.

“I don’t want to even live in Asgard, let alone rule it. You guys have so much advanced technology, but you’re stuck in the middle ages! You guys live in castles and all the women wear dresses! I’m not that kinda girl. Never in my LIFE have I ever dreamed of being a princess, or being swept off my feet. It’s not me, Thor,” You explode.

“Well guess what, (Y/N). I need a queen. My father is getting into his old age, and despite what everyone assumes, we do not live forever. I must take the throne, and my bride will be queen. If that can’t be you, I can’t be with you,” Thor seethes.

“Then don’t be with me,” You huff.

Thor is silent, eyebrows drawn together. He nods, and heads back inside. The flames have finally been extinguished.

 


	22. Steve Rogers/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a request that I took forever to fill, but it's finished now!

_"There's a log on the fire, and it burns like me for you"~ Save Tonight, Eagle-Eye Cherry_

It’s Christmas Eve at the Avenger’s Tower. It’s not his first Christmas since coming out of the ice, but everything is still so… strange to Steve. Lots of things are different, and yet some things haven’t changed a bit. The tree may be covered in LED lights, but it’s still a Christmas tree. The apple cider might have been made somewhere far away, but he it’s still pleasantly warm. Bucky might have a metal arm now, but he’s still catching girls under the mistletoe. And in the sleek and modern fireplace, a log burns.

Of course in accordance with the theme at hand, Steve is pining for a girl that knocks the breath out of him. Across the room you stand dressed up in red with a green bow in your hair, and Steve wishes he was suave enough to glide across the room and ask if you’re his present. It’s stupid and corny, but when the material swishes around your legs to the beat of some Christmas song he doesn’t know yet, he gets kinda fuzzy in the brain. He clears his throat, and breaks his stare to look at his spiked apple cider (courtesy of Tony). He hears your voice even from across the room, clear as a bell. He hears you excuse yourself from Natasha and Bruce, saying that they’d better say hi to Laura and Clint before they go home. Footsteps sound louder than his heart as you make your way to him.

“Hey, stranger. Merry Christmas!” You say, eyes twinkling and a smile practically tattooed on your face.

“Hey (Y/N). You too! Merry Christmas to you too, I mean!” Steve says.

You laugh, and sit next to him.

“So, second Christmas out of the ice! How does it feel?” You ask.

He swallows, slightly nervous.

“Less cold,” He jokes.

Your giggles make him smile, and he relaxes.

“I don’t know, NYC in the winter is pretty cold! Anyway, I came over to give you something,” You chirp, opening up your clutch purse.

“No, (Y/N). I couldn’t accept-”

“Shut up, Rogers. Take it!” You exclaim, shoving a thin little square into his palm.

“If this is money, (Y/N)...” Steve murmurs, shaking his head.

He opens it up, and inside is a tiny frame. Inside the frame is black and white photo of him when he was still a little guy. It's not ripped or faded at all.

“How did you get this?”Steve asks.

“I found it in a file, stored in a box, locked in a crate, in a storage unit I happened to be assigned to cataloging. Very convenient indeed,” you laugh.

Steve laughs. You're so playful and young, something he's been wanting more of amidst all the tragedy.

“How did you fix this up?” Steve asks.

You blush, and look up at him through your eyelashes. If only-

“How about I tell you over dinner sometime?” You suggest shyly, unnatural for you.

A pause to absorb the forwardness.

“You know what? I think that would be the best Christmas present I've ever received.”


	23. James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry to keep you guys waiting! thank you for being patient and loyal!

_“Baby, it's cold outside”~ Baby It’s Cold Outside, (Original Singers)[Ricardo Montalban](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ricardo_Montalban) and[ Esther Williams](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Esther_Williams)_

Warm.

It's the first thing you notice when you wake up. Even though the room itself is warm and you are swaddled in blankets, you are the perfect temperature. You sigh and snuggle in deeper. If you can just sleep for a little longer…

“(Y/N)? Are you awake, doll?” A pleasantly rough voice slides through the warmth.

You sigh lightly, and roll onto your side. You slowly open your eyes to see Bucky sitting on a chair next to your bed. His beard is a little overgrown and he has bags under his eyes.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“You were sick,” Bucky says, not taking his eyes off you.

You pause. The last thing you remember is blacking out in the snow halfway across the world. You got hit in the shoulder and you were bleeding-

“The doctors took care of your shoulder so you shouldn't feel any pain. They couldn't do much for your fever, though. You’ve been in and out of it for a couple days,” Bucky explains.

“And you've been watching over me?” You ask.

Bucky licks his lips and nods.

“You have always had my back. Figured It would be fair to repay the favor.”

He runs a hand through his hair and moves to get up, but you sit up on your knees. You reach forward and wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, burying your face in the nape of his neck.

“Stay,” you whisper softly.

He breathes deeply, taking in your smell.

“Well it is a snow day,” he murmurs, crawling into the bed as he kicks off his shoes.

He wraps his arms around you as you two look out the window at the flurry of ice falling from the sky.

“I guess so,” you say.

The sleep that follows after is warm.


	24. Tony Stark x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck while you guys rock.  
> Seriously, thank you for everything!!! I was so super stoked to find that I have a bunch of requests! Because let's be honest those are always fun to fill and challenge yourself with.

_“What I really meant to say is I'm sorry for the way I am. I never meant to be so cold”~ Cold, Crossfade_

When you're a billionaire, you don't get close to people. It's the number one rule, because if you get close to someone you get hurt. People want fame and money, and they will manipulate you to get it. It's lesson Tony learned from his dad at eight years old. And in accordance to that rule, he doesn't let people in and he most definitely doesn't get attached. He's certain that's why Pepper left, but of course he’ll never admit that. He bounces from model to athlete to news reporter to Miss Universe without remorse. It's only until the paperwork piles on his desk does he realize he needs another assistant. After the woman who shall remain nameless left, he considers hiring a guy. He quickly dismisses the idea because he needs the estrogen to balance his impulsiveness. It takes him approximately three weeks of procrastinating, but he does eventually post the job listing. The interviews take place the next Monday.  
He is _thrilled, obviously_.  
He decides to pick the one with the most repulsive personality, because to be very honest Tony isn't too choosy when it comes to the appearances of the women that warm his bed. It's the personality that can make or break it. Sitting at his desk overlooking the city, he takes a calming breath. An hour later he's sure he's sucked all the calm out the air because he's about to lose it. He wanted irritating personalities, not completely unbearable. Motherfucking genius billionaire philanthropist can't even find an assistant. He could see the headline now, minus the cursing.  
“Next, please!” Tony calls out to his office AI, and his door swings open to reveal a girl.  
You instantly strikes him as the girl next door. He doesn't know why- his neighbors growing up ended up as supermodels or whatever- but something about you says home. Probably the turtleneck that you're wearing.  
You visibly swallow and cross the room. You sit in the chair farthest from him, and slip your resume into his hands. The paper on top is a medical form. He raises his eyebrow towards you, and you blush hard.  
**MUTE**.  
The word is stamped at the top of the page, and signed with a terrible signature underneath. Doctors, honestly. Your credentials are all in place and your reccomendations sparkle with praise. Still…  
“You think you can handle me without words, sweet cheeks?”He asks.  
You raise your eyebrow and twist your mouth into a scowl.  
“Good, I could use some quiet. You're hired starting right now,” Tony says, jumping up.  
Eyes wide, you get up and start working.  
In the end, it's your eyes that kill him. Your wide, innocent eyes seduce him better than any woman he's ever met. Your squinting, disapproving eyes keep the girls out of his bed. Your smiling roll of the eyes make his chest tight with pure unadulterated happiness. And with each piece of his heart you get, the more he resists.  
Mutey. Dopey. Mouse. Avox. Chatty Cathy. You couldn't count the terrible names he's given you, the ones that you remember as you look in the mirror at night. The ones that make you cry even more as you change your bandages. Still, you smile because he might act like a jerk but he's not. He just needs someone constant and firm that he's not sleeping with. The truth doesn't come out until the Mandarin. Stupid Tony, such an idiot Tony. Putting you- the woman he loves against all odds- at serious risk. When the suit wraps around you, it slams into your throat. Your body erupts into pain, and you gasp for breath. Tony manages to reach you, and shoves you under cover. You wrangle off the chest plate and pull off your standard turtleneck to reveal a slightly bloodied bandage around your neck.  
“(Y/N) what is that?” Tony whispers, holding you close.  
You unravel the bandage to reveal a little piece of metal in the middle of a bunch of scar tissue and jagged cuts. You twist the metal frantically, not breathing.  
“(Y/N)! What is that?” Tony asks.  
You must have figured it out, because you collapse against his chest as you take a deep breath. You shudder, your breathing ragged. You pull your phone out of your pocket and type.  
**Bomb that killed my parents left my neck and vocal chords in shreds. Lucky to be alive.**  
The words are unforgiving. The sound of helicopters searching for his dead body and yours don't help. The apologies are getting tangled in his throat, and his chest is tightening. His eyes burn, and not just from the dust and smoke cluttering the air. He buries his face against your neck and takes in a gasp of air. Feeling his tears against your neck, you cling to his tighter.  
“I’m sorry,” he manages to sob out.  
You're not sure what for, but as long as Tony's in you arms you can't bring yourself to care.

 

 


	25. Clint Barton x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow.   
> To the wonderful person who requested this, I hope you like it! Let me know if it's not how you wanted it because once I get angsty, I get ANGSTY.

_ "Some say I'm losing my faith, but I know I'm just living on a prayer. Time keeps slipping away- I'll watch you burn down these vows that we made"~Angels, Vicetone feat. Kat Nestel _   
****

**Budapest.**

The envelope is labeled and tucked closed, stored in a shoebox. You found it by accident, when you were cleaning in Clint’s weapon room. Don’t get it wrong, you weren’t snooping. It’s not uncommon for you to clean Clint’s arrows and bows while he’s away. He knows that it makes you feel like a part of him is there when he’s gone for months at a time. You guess that’s why you didn’t have any problems taking the lid off the box for shoes, only to find a bulky envelope. From the way that it protrudes and bulges, it’s easy to guess that they’re pictures of some sort. Putting the lid on the box, you debate opening it. Clint has nothing to hide from you: having a kid together has gotten rid of any secrecy. He tells you everything he possibly can, except for the most classified stuff. Still, you’re not a blood-and-guts kinda person. You’d prefer not to open them only to find the gore your husband sees more than he should. You put the box on a shelf in the closet.

It stays there for about a week. 

You go about your daily city life: cleaning the apartment, taking care of your son Nathan, and going to work. Like Pandora’s box, the thought of opening that envelope seems more enticing each day. When your babysitter takes Nathan to the park, you decide that it’s time. It can’t be any worse than a horror movie, right? Setting the box down on the kitchen table, you lift off the lid with the precision of a surgeon. Taking a deep breath, you untuck the flap that closes the envelope. The first picture is of a long, golden bridge lit up like the fourth of July. It’s an amazing photograph-you didn’t know that Mr.Barton archer-extraordinaire was also a photographer. The next few ones are similarly beautiful photographs of palaces and grand buildings that sparkle against the dark nights. The further you get, you figure Clint meant to leave this out for you to look at. Until one photo particularly catches your eye. Looking directly at Clint and Natasha makes you smile. The two are so beautiful together, standing in a casino uncover. The two are wearing wedding rings, and in the glass behind them you can see Clint is clutching at her ass. It almost makes you laugh, until you look closer at their rings. Natasha’s ring looks exactly like yours- the one on your finger right now. And as your nose practically brushes the paper, you notice that Clint’s looks a whole awful lot like the one Natasha wears around her neck on a chain. Flipping over the date, you find that this photo was taken a couple weeks before Clint proposed to you. Taking a deep breath, you shake your head. Clint probably just thought it would be convenient to use a ring he already had on hand. The next few pictures are of Natasha wearing the ring, and then there’s one of Clint wearing his ring. It looks exactly like the ring tattoo he has on his ring finger. The tattoo he got because he can’t wear a ring while shooting. A shiver runs down your spine, but you ignore it. Your heart stops at the next picture. It must be the hotel room where they stayed, because Natasha lying on the bed, not wearing anyth-

You slam the photo down onto the table. You didn’t know Clint took photos like  _ that. _

 

Finding nudes of your husband’s colleague- the one who you named your  _ son _ after- was  horrifying to say the least. Of course, it didn’t help that you’re terrible at hiding your pain. People felt the need to comment all the time.

_ “Are you okay? Do you need anything? You haven’t been yourself at all lately. What’s wrong?” _

You could scream. Better yet, Clint would be home in a few minutes. Checking to make sure Nathan is asleep, you then take the time to spread the rest of the photos across the kitchen table. Each photo gets worse, until you see the actual deed being done. You’re about to be sick when the front door opens. You take a deep breath, and turn around to face Clint. He blinks, looking at your tear-stained face and the photos on the table and the opened shoebox and everything that is making your world flip upside down. He sets his bag on the ground, and closes the door softly. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t wanna know why. You were never supposed to know,” He says roughly, opening the fridge to grab a water bottle. 

_ That’s it? _ You reach over and shut the door, looking him straight in the blue eyes.

“I’m pretty sure I wanna know why you fucked Natasha a month before you proposed,” You hiss, eyes swimming in tears.

Clint laughs, and it’s the coldest sound you’ve heard from him ever. He moves around you, pushing you lightly out of the way.

“Fine, then. You’re the runner up who got first place. Think of Steve Harvey’s Miss Universe, but in reverse. You took the crown from the real winner: Nat,” He explains, unapologetic.

“What?” You say, sagging against the counter.

“Babe, I’ve been in love with Nat since I first saw her. And I was going to kill her then. Why would me marrying you change that?” Clint says, sitting in a chair at the table and picking up one of the photos.

The room is tilting, shoving you to the floor. You gasp for air, and the bastard jumps up to help you put your head between your knees. You sit next to him in silence for a moment.

“Why did you pick me, then?” You inquire between sniffles.

“Because Nat’s not the marrying type, and she’s sterile. So me and her came up with a plan. I would marry you, you would think I’m in love, and I would get a wife with kids. On the missions, I would get the woman I’m in love with. Plain and simple,” Clint says.

Your world is opening up and swallowing you like a blackhole.

“And the rings?”

“I gave you Nat’s because you’re her fill-in. I gave her mine because I belong to her. The tattoo was to solidify that, and keep you off my back,” Clint stands, and sits at the table.

The gears in your mind are humming, making connections and pulling them apart. _ Damn him. Damn her.  _

“So the ring affecting your shooting was complete bullshit?”

“I’ve been shooting arrows since I was a kid. I can’t believe you bought that,” He laughs.

“I can’t believe anything right now,” You whisper, clutching your head.

“Good- it means you’re learning how to deal with the real world,” Clint comments.

He stands from the table and heads back into your bedroom. He stops in the doorway. The lying cheater turns and faces you once more.

“The bed is always open if you wanna go back to pretending,” Clint says, and with that, he disappears into your room. 

The hardest your heart has ever burned is when Clint wraps his arms around you between your sheets. You know it’s over. 

But it’s better to pretend you have something than to admit you have nothing.


	26. Steve Rogers x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments have been super great to read! Thank you!!!!

_ "Your friends all talking 'bout me: they say I got no chance at all. Your fire is burning deep in my soul, my soul, my soul"~Wolves, One Direction. _

 

Some people say that when history is being made, nobody knows it's happening. Obviously, those people have never set foot in a dancehall when the music is swinging and feet are burning up the floor. Just looking around you know that when people in the future look back at the 40’s, they're going to learn about this. The brass bands filling the room with so much life that it's overflowing. The dances that make people move faster and harder than ever before, but make them smile ten times as wide. The low lights that make you feel like there's a single spotlight just for you and your beau. And  _ him.  _ The man with a plan, Captain America. He's the one that they're gonna idolize. Little boys in twenty years or so are gonna look at him and want to be him. (Who are you even kidding- they want to grow up to be him even now!) Editors in the 1960’s will make sure his face is plastered across the pages of their kid’s textbooks. Hell, they'll dedicate buildings and monuments to this wonderful man. You just wish you could be standing right there next to him. Not to share in the glory like some khaki-wacky fame-junkie, Heaven forbid. Just to be there for him and love him. To be a helping hand in the America you two both love so dearly. To be something more than just his personal nurse. That's never going to happen, though. Not when he's constantly surrounded by girls much more shaped and- well-  _ stacked. _ That doesn't stop you from looking though. It can't hurt to look, right? (Read as: if loving him is going to burn you, you won’t mind)

“See that broad over there, the one in the booth by herself? Making goo-goo eyes at Rogers?” Some guy in a uniform says just a little bit too loudly.

You internally flinch; they're talking about you.

“Yeah, she's one of the nurses. Not too shabby, but there are definitely some better looking dames. I hope she doesn't think she has a chance with Mr. Stars-and-Stripes, though. You and me bunk with him, and so you know that she ain't got a hope in heaven for getting him,” his friend laughs. 

The flinch is less internal.

“True, but she's better looking than that last dame I brought back. Bet if I laid it on her real thick she’d forget all about Rogers,” the first guy says, and gets up.

You take a sip of your drink, trying to act casual while refraining from crying. The guy, tall and redheaded sits in the seat across from you. He's got a smug look on his face, the kind you'd like to wipe off. You look away, and back at Steve. Who's dancing with a blonde you've never seen before.

“Hey sugar, you rationed?” The redhead asks.

“Hm?” You turn to him, playing dumb.

“You going steady with someone, or are you free to spend an evening with me?” The redhead asks.

“I'm good, thanks,” you say quietly, turning back to Steve. 

“You know that he's never gonna want you honey, so cut your losses and quit while you're ahead,” the nameless man spits, getting up from his seat and storming out with his friend. 

And that's how your night goes basically. Some guys offers you a drink to cheer you up, but you decline. Another guy offers you a cigar to share and you say no. The third one asks for your number- you cut him off before he can explain why. All the while, you watch Steve get shuffled from woman to woman. It's sickening how they rub their chests all over him, like they're trying to mark him with their _perfume from_ _Paris_. By about 11 pm you're done watching this shitshow, pardon your _French._ If you see one more brunette flutter her eyelashes at him you're going to throw up. Setting down a small stack of bills, you head towards the door. You step out into the frigid air, and take a deep breath. It stings but it still manages to feel good. The walk to the hotel the army managed to snag is not that far from all the action. Before you know it you're slipping off your heels and stockings.

A knock sounds at the door, and you pause in reaching for the zipper on your dress. Opening the door, you're stunned to find a breathless Steve at your doorstep. He swallows hard, and holds out a flyer. Across it are ads for war bonds that you had been considering buying.

“You left this back at the bar. I was gonna come talk to you but you slipped out before I could. You left this in your booth,” he stumbles out in that deep voice of his. 

“Thanks,” you say, swallowing hard. You motion for him to come in, and sit down at the tiny table in the corner of the room. Steve follows, sitting. Across from you, knees grazing yours slightly. Your bare, no-stockings knees.Steve clears his throat.

“I think it's great that you're buying bonds even when you're serving in the- the um- you're nursing. You're a nurse, I mean.” 

Blushing, you nod.  

“I don't have to pay for much anymore, since the army provides everything. Figured that I could save most of my paycheck and still buy bonds with the rest. Those bonds really do help our guys,” you say softly. 

“That's great,” Steve says enthusiastically.

Silence.

“I, um, came to talk to you about John. When I was looking to talk to you. Back at the dancehall,” Steve says.

“Who?” You ask, scrunching your eyebrows. 

“Ginger hair, green eyes- he's the one I shared a tent with?” He describes.

If your stomach has never dropped out of your butt before, it has now. You play with your fingers, and nod.

“Some of the guys were talking to me about things he was saying? And um, I just wanted to say no,” Steve says. 

“No what?” You whisper.

Steve reaches towards your face with both hands, and pulls you forward. His lips meet your forehead hard and firm. He pulls you from your chair and sits you on his lap, breathing hard. 

“No. No. No I most definitely want you. Only you. You are the one who has taken care of me at my worst when nobody else cared. You are not second best to anybody. You're it, doll,” Steve says raggedly. 

You press your lips to his for a long time, until the need to breath makes you pull away. Tears are streaming down your face, and Steve brushes them away. 

“I want you too, Steve.”


	27. Steve Rogers x Reader (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a request!  
> Hope you like it! Lemme know if it's not what you wanted, though!

_ “Twenty stitches in the hospital room- when you started cryin', baby, I did, too. But when the sun came up, I was lookin' at you. Remember when we (I) couldn't take the heat? ”~ Out of the Woods, Taylor Swift. _

 

Waiting for the soldiers to come back from a battle is like walking through hell. 

There’s nothing for you to do but wait- everything is prepared for the wounded when they come storming into camp half-dead. The thought makes you shiver in a hot night, but you pretend it’s just the darkness that set over camp a couple hours ago. The boys have to be back soon. They can’t fight in the dark, right? They certainly can’t find their way off the battlefield to the camp at night. You shouldn’t have listened to Steve when he asked you to not nurse on the battlefield. In fact, you should have been a frontline nurse. That way you would know Steve is okay. It’s thrumming in the base of your brain, through your spine and vibrating through your veins.

_ Come back to me, Steve. Please.  _

Hearing trucks and yelling men, you make a mad dash to the opening flap on the hospital tent. Through the inky night, you can see men in U.S. uniforms heading towards you. The injuries range from possible amputation to relatively harmless, but nothing prepares you for the last man being carried towards you. With his blue suit and helmet, you know this is none than your boyfriend Steve. Heart in your throat, you see the star on his chest is covered with blood. As the one carrying reach the tent, you rush them inside to place Steve on a cot. As you get extra-strong scissors to cut his suit-shirt off, you will your hands to stop shaking.  Your blood is on fire, searing through your veins. The sight of your lover’s blood is unbearable for you, but you’re his personal nurse. You have to save him. Reaching for Steve’s bloody collar, a glove-covered hand stops yours. Through your tears, you  watch your head nurse takes the scissors from your hands. She smiles, but it’s dim and full of pity. 

“Your shift ended 10 minutes ago, anyway,” She says.

Nodding, you move around the other side of the bed to grab Steve’s hand. It’s dirty and calloused, but you hold it through the entire surgery. It looks like an incredibly sharp knife sliced him across the neck. Without his super serum healing abilities, he would surely be dead. It takes 20 stitches and 105 minutes, but eventually the blood has been cleaned up and Steve’s wound is bandaged. Within 25 minutes the hospital is practically deserted except for the wounded soldiers sleeping all the way across the tent. In this corner, it almost seems like you two are in your own little hospital room. To help you stay awake, you bring over a cup of water and a sponge. You grab Steve’s hand once more and begin to gently scrub. His eyebrows furrow, and his breathing stutters a little. Swallowing back your tears, you continue your hygienic efforts.

“You’ve gotta come back, Steve. I wouldn’t let you reach for that white light when I was just your personal nurse, and I’m sure as Hell not going to letting you go now that I have you. So you gotta come back to me, babe. Nurse’s orders,” You whisper softly. 

Steve eyebrows furrow a bit more, and his breathing becomes a little less even. Suddenly, you’re hit by the blue eyes you love more than anything in the world. The eyes that bore into yours less than a week ago and said “I want you” now fill with unshed tears. 

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve woken up to a more beautiful sight,” Steve rasps out. 

Putting the cup and sponge on the floor, you latch gently onto his shoulder. Your held-back tears stain his bare skin like salty promises to never let him go. Pulling you down onto the cot beside him, he silent cries his own promises into your hair. 

“If you died tonight I wouldn’t have forgiven myself,” You sob softly.

Steve pulls you impossibly closer and tilts your head to rest on his chest in a way that lets you look into his eyes.

“That was last night, doll. But look, the sun's gonna rise pretty soon and it’ll all just be a bad memory. One that we can forget.”

Smiling a watery smile, you nod your head into Steve’s warm chest. This is one heat that you can handle.


	28. James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested! If you have also requested and are waiting for it to be filled, please be patient with me! (You've been lovely so far!) But I have quite a few to do and I'm trying to do them by oldest date first! Thanks!

_ "Let's start fires for heaven’s sake. Our hearts are too ruthless to break, so let's be sinners to be saints and let's be winners by mistake" ~ Sinners, Lauren Aquilina _ __   
  


Behind your closed eyelids, you can picture the devastation. The falling building, the people being herded into trucks, and the desperation in your friend’s faces. The Avengers are the Earth’s Mightiest Heros, but they are too good for their own sake. That’s why they need Bucky and you: to do things that they won’t do and cross lines that they can’t cross. As ex-soviet super soldiers, you both have had a taste of the wrong side of life. The life that kills in the dark when your back is turned. You’ve been tainted, and while it’s sick they need to use you for that. They need you to be twisted and wrong so the really bad guys don’t win. You understand this. From the moment they addressed you as Agent 24, you knew that’s what they wanted you for. Sure, on regular missions you followed the clean route of winning. You followed the unspoken rules of being a hero. But desperate times like this call for desperate measures.

“They need you to be the Winter Soldier, Bucky.”

You couldn’t believe you were asking him this so soon, and after all this time of you two trying to fit in being good guys. 

“No. I don't do that anymore.”

You two sit in the back of a Starbucks, facing each other in a booth. The nearest person is 50 feet away with their headphones in. Everyone is unaware. Oblivious. Innocent. 

“Bucky, if you don’t come with me right now people are going to die a terrible death. And yeah, maybe they’ll still die even if we show up, but sure as hell more citizens will die if we don’t,” You plead.

“Weren’t  _ you  _ the one who said this would be a great chance for us? A chance to be the good guys? Didn’t you say-”

Tears welling in your eyes, you grab Bucky’s hand. You’ve been working with Bucky since the 50’s- through brainwashing and freezing and killing. And he’s never seen you cry once. 

“Whether you like it or not, you're the Winter Soldier. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Just like I’m Agent 24 and I always will be. We both did terrible things for bad people. Now we’re still gonna have to do terrible things, but at least this time we’re gonna do it for the good guys. We’re doing it with good intentions, Bucky,” You whisper, clutching at his metal hand. 

Bucky clenches his jaw, looking away. 

“How do we know that they’re actually the good guys, (Y/N)? How can we friggin’ tell who’s good and who’s bad when the good guys are doing bad things? Huh? How do you know that we’re not just going to end up doing the same shit we did for Hydra but for the Avengers?” Bucky hisses, retracting his hand.

You swallow hard, and clear your throat.

“Is Steve a bad guy? Is Bruce a monster? Is Natasha a cold-blooded killer? Is Tony evil? Do I even need to go on?” You say quietly, not meeting his eyes.

Shaking your head, you stand up. You’re going to have to do this on your own. You flinch when the door to the café slams shut behind you.

 

You stand in the middle of the Hydra base, covered in blood. You told your friend the Avengers to find the place where the city’s people were taken, and then go home. They protested, but you know that if you did this your way they were going to half-heartedly stop you. You don’t need to hold the image that they want you to be a clean-route hero. The only strange thing is that the base was almost too easy to overtake. Granted, you’re good and you didn’t hold back this time, but it was just not the force you remembered. Suddenly, you hear footsteps coming from behind you. Thinking quick, you jump and grab a pipe on the ceiling. You pull yourself up, hiding behind the thick vent on the ceiling. You can’t see who’s below you, so you quiet your breath. Tilting your head, you manage to catch a glimpse of blood-matted hair. With all the speed you can muster, you launch yourself off the pipe and throw the person to the down. As the person hits the ground, you reach for their weapon. Grasping onto the metal, you yank. However, you only succeed in flipping the person. 

“Hey! You asked for the Winter Soldier, and this is how you thank him?” The man in the black mouth-mask says gruffly.

Eye wide, you realize the man you are sitting atop is Bucky. He is also covered in blood, and he has a scrape on his chin. Stunned into paralysis, Bucky pushes you off him and stands on his feet. He pulls you to your feet, and wipes some of the blood off your face.

“Let’s get out of here and let the clean-up crew take care of the mess,” Bucky says, leading the way towards the exit, ”I took care of the other guys. Don’t worry about them.”

You step out of the concrete and into the open air. You are surrounded by miles of rolling hills covered in dead grass. People stand in groups, dirty and wounded but obviously relieved. You had to do terrible things,  but seeing a smile grace the face of a reunited mother and son makes everything better. Not by much, though. Not when blood that is not yours coats your skin. The only other things are two helicopters, one ready and able to take off as soon as you get in. The other is fitted with a weapon you’re quite familiar with.

“A flame gun?”

“If we’re gonna be Agent 24 and the Winter Soldier for the good guys, we gotta do things right. That means never leaving any evidence behind. They’ll burn the inside to match the dead grass and call it “Wildfire Destroys Bomb-Shelter”,” Bucky explains.

You don’t answer, just nod and head over to the helicopter. You feel dirty and kinda shocked at Bucky’s suddenly easy acceptance. Maybe he was right- maybe the Avenegers are-

“That is what you want, right? To be the anti-heros?” Bucky calls over the noise of the crowd, still standing still. 

You stop, letting the word wash over you.

_ Anti-hero. _

_ Not a villian, but not a hero.  _

_ An anti-hero. _

You turn to him slowly, and grin at him. He grins back, and jogs to catch up with you. Throwing his metal around you, you laugh.

“Anti-hero. I like the sound of that,” You exclaim.

“I never was a black-or-white kinda guy, anyhow,” Bucky says, pulling you into the helicopter.

You pull him into the longest kiss of your life.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	29. Tony Stark x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY IF YOU HATE ME FOR THIS, I APOLOGIZE IN ADVANCE.  
> This was requested, but you have to blame me for the super-angst. My bad...

_ "In the heat where you lay, I could stay right here and burn in it all day"~ No Control, One Direction _

 

You never really  meant for this to happen, but you’re glad it did.

You guess that’s the sickest part of all. 

You lay in bed under the dimmed lights of Tony’s bedroom, tracing his jaw with your index finger. It’s not your jaw to trace, but for now you’re borrowing it. You wish you didn’t have to give that right back. Tony’s eyes bear into yours, and he lifts your finger to press it against his mouth. His lips are hot and a bit swollen as he presses a kiss to it.  You’re both dressed, but only barely. Half an hour ago, that would have been a very different story. Smiling, you snuggle in closer to him. His arc reactor is surprising warm, almost like sitting under a heat lamp. You know it’s the energy being released from- 

“We have to go back to the lab, Tony,” You sigh.

Tony groans, rolling onto his back. He drags you on top of him, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. Skin to skin, you can’t help but grin. You don’t want to get out of bed either. 

But you know that Pepper is coming home in a couple hours, and you two need to show her some progress so she won’t be suspicious.

“Noooooo, (Y/N). Why do we have to get out my nice, comfy bed just to spend hours in a cold, hard workshop?” Tony moans.

You take a deep inhale of his cologne, and use that motivation to sit up in his lap. Swinging your leg out, your feet hit the cold floor. You change into your skirt and button-up as Tony watches you with his dark brown eyes.

“Because Pepper needs to think your lab technician has been tech-ing, not sleeping with her fiancé,” You sigh.

In your chest, your heart bangs against your ribs. They act like a cage to hold down your self-hatred and school-girl crush on Tony. They don’t let the love that sits unused in your organ flow out into the open air. And if they fail, the price would be detrimental.

“I don’t care anymore, (Y/N). I don’t love her. I want you,” Tony whines, getting out of bed to pull on his jeans,

“You’re a gypsy, Tony. Always wanting to move from adventure to adventure. She’s holding you down, but she’s made you more productive than ever. You’ll learn to love her, or continue to have me in secret,” You say matter-of-factly as your heart cracks a little.

“Fine,” Tony says, laying a kiss on your shoulder,” Head down to the lab without me, I’ve got to patch the camera recordings together and play with Jarvis’s memory.”

You hum in recognition as Tony slips into the bathroom. Turning back to the mirror, you don’t even recognize the woman before you. What kind of woman are you? The kind that plays around with almost-married men? Shutting down your feelings before they overwhelm you, you finish buttoning your shirt. It’s no use getting upset over. You know that every time you try to walk away from Tony, he will always draw you back in.


	30. Tony Stark x Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request filled- a sorry this took so long to fill! And sorry for not updating in forever. My life is too much sometimes!

 

_“I'm going to love you, anyway. Come to me again in the cold, cold night.”~In the Cold, Cold Night, The White Stripes_

Hospitals are sterile.   
They are all white and clean and smell like antiseptic and are cold.   
Always.   
The people in hospitals, however, are a different stories.   
They are wrecks: emotionally, physically, mentally…  
Always.  
This does not exclude you.   
Curled into a ball beneath sterile sheets, you are hiding from the people. You have been torn apart enough by yourself- you do not need any outside help. Your lower body is throbbing, as if your heart has dropped from your chest and into your bowels. The bruises on your face, neck, your chest, your thighs… they each pound like individual heartbeats. It's like your heart has shattered and the broken pieces reside under purple-yellow-blue skin. In the back of your mind, you can still feel his hands. The ones that shot out of the darkness and pulled you into the alley. The ones that tore your clothes off, and made the bruises. The hands that parted your thighs and took everything from you. From beyond the sheets, you can hear the nurses whispering to each other. Pity comments, nursing directions and gossip. Your emergency contact is Anthony Stark- the Tony Stark. They can't believe this (“raped,” they whisper) girl has a billionaire as her emergency contact. Maybe you're just a fan girl, they suggest. But no- you are much more. So much more. You walked out on him a week ago, but you couldn't change it. 5 years of quietly being with him and you couldn't just let him go. You could walk out all you want but Tony is your addiction. He gets drunk and he’s been screwed up by his childhood but he's a good man. He’s not what they say he is. The door opens softly, and two voices are whispering. A high-pitched nurse and lower-pitched man. Not as deep as the man- he had a voice like a mountain. He certainly destroyed you like an avalanche, burying you deep under. The door shuts, but you can still hear one person breathing.   
“(Y/N)? Babe it's Tony. Just Tony. No one else,” the low voice barely reaches you under the sheets.   
One step, two step, three step, four step, the chair scraping the floor, and a small thud. A shadow passes above the sheets. A hand.  
Hands. His hands?   
You flinch and move deeper.   
“Baby, please. I won't touch you if you don't want me to but please come out? It's Tony, your boyfriend,” he says.  
Those are not his hands. These are hands that love you. You slowly pull back the sheets to see Tony’s face. He is so concerned- you walked out him but he's so concerned. He is so still, too. He will not touch you if you don't want him to. But you want him to. You reach out, and pull him close. He toes off his shoes, and crawls in beside you. Burying your face into the side of his chest, you are thankful. He feels nothing like the man and smells nothing like that man.  
He is Tony. Just Tony. And Tony will not hurt you.  
“(Y/N) I promise I will take care of you. I shouldn't have let you go, and you got hurt because I didn't stop you. It's my fault and I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry,” Tony whispers, his tears dropping into your hair,”but now that I have you back, I'm not letting you out of my sight. I'm going to protect from anything and everything. Nobody is ever going to touch you again.”   
You nod, burrowing deeper into Tony.   
The cold night may have shattered you into fragments but Tony is holding you together. And you know even if the shards cut his hands he isn't going to let you go ever again.


	31. Thor/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request filled!

_ "So it's gonna be forever or it's gonna go down in flames.”~Blank Space, Taylor Swift _

 

_ “You are beautiful, (Y/N), but is it enough? Thor can have any woman- especially Sif. What makes you think he's satisfied with you?”  _ The voice whispers in your mind _ ,  _ torturing you.

Your mind is burning- full of hate that keeps you awake in the middle of the night. Your head feels full and yet like its being burned to nothing. 

What is going on with you? 

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling of the palace. As Thor’s betrothed, you've been living in the palace for six months. Ever since you moved in, though, it's like your self-confidence decided to cave in on itself. You feel so angry and worthless and you want to follow Thor around because,  _ God, _ how is he in love with  _ you? _ How does he stay faithful to you when he’s got goddesses at his beck-and-call? 

At the same time, you have these doubts lying at the edges of your consciousness. The ones that tell you that Thor is an idiot and a war-mongerer. You know that isn’t true. At least, most of you knows that it’s not true. Getting out of bed, you slip on a robe over your nightgown. Drawing the fabric together, you move out onto your balcony to look over Asgard. A city just now waking up lays before you, streetlights just now blinking out. It’s a beautiful sight to watch Asgard rise from slumber. Beyond the city lie vast mountains with tumbling waterfalls. The only thing that separates the city and the mountains are a thick forest and a magnificent stone bridge. The thought of crossing it, of running from these terrible stone walls and onto the grass...you can picture a place just right for a picnic. There's a knock at your door, and you call for them to enter. Your fiancé strides across the room, and presses a kiss to your forehead. When he holds you, the insulting voices are quiet. Nothing they say can hurt you. 

“Thor, could we take our breakfast away from the palace? There's a perfect spot I can see from here,” You ask, saying the words into his chest.

“I could use the fresh air as well. It will be nice to not have to take breakfast in the Grand Hall,” Thor rumbles.

You nod, the thought of getting out of these stone walls a small comfort. It doesn’t stay long enough.

 

On the edge of the forest, you do not feel better. Holding Thor’s hand is a slight relief, but you still feel wrong. As Thor sets up your small feast, you wrap your arms around yourself. You feel a strong breeze from the waterfall running under the bridge, but you still stand burning in your long gown. Sighing softly, you help Thor set up your outdoor breakfast. You two eat in uncomfortable silence, listening to the roar of the water. Suddenly, the voice in your head is back. It mocks you, telling you all the things you fear. Shifting slightly, you bite into an apple. Attempting to be casual, you glance around to see if Thor notices.

And then you see him. 

A man is standing behind you at the edge of the forest. You freeze, your hand shooting out to grab onto Thor’s bicep.

“(Y/N)? What’s wrong?” He asks, looking in the same direction.

Thor looks straight at him but doesn’t seem to see him. It’s as if he’s suddenly gone blind. 

“ I see someone standing at the treeline. I can’t tell who it is- they’re wearing a hood. Look- right there!” You stammer, frozen in place.

Thor stands, and moves in front of you. His eyes scan the area, but seem to find nothing.

“Nobody is there,” He murmurs.

“What are you talking about? He’s right there!” You yell, scrambling to your feet. 

You sway on unsteady feet, your center of gravity off. 

“(Y/N), I think you’re unwell. We should return-”

“To the palace? So you can see Sif? Or any of your other women? Hm? Isn’t that right?” You exclaim, barely able to focus on anything while your world spins.

“(Y/N)! I have no one other than you! There is no other woman- or women, for that matter!” Thor says, reaching out for you. 

“YES-you do! You have to have a mistress or a concubine or somebody else because-”

An arm wraps around your waist and drags you against a long, lean body. All the air exits your lungs, and you stand paralyzed. Your attacker keeps you faced away from him. You can’t tell who it is, but you can tell it’s a man, and his touch is unfamiliar. Thor stares at the man first in disbelief then hatred.

“Loki, release her, ” Thor says lowly.

Your blood runs cold. Loki, the trickster god, holds you captive. And then it clicks. The voices in your head- they aren’t yours. They’re Loki’s. They were always Loki’s. 

_ “How clever of you to figure it out, (Y/N),” a voice hisses in your mind. _

Now that you think about it, the voice is too deep and foreign to be your own. How could you have not figured this out sooner?

“WHAT, BROTHER? WHAT WILL YOU DO WHILE I HAVE YOUR BELOVED IN MY ARMS?” The snake-like voice yells from behind you.

“Loki, let me go! Whatever you want from Thor, you will not get it by harming me,” you say, straining against his arms.

Loki’s laugh is cold- just like his pale hands that keep you tight to him.

“But my dear, what if I want  _ you _ ?” Loki asks straight into your ear. 

You take a deep inhale of breath, but quickly compose yourself.

“Then I would tell you to go  Jotunheim!” You say, struggling even harder.

Your hands brush what is obviously a sword or a knife in Loki’s scabbard, so you pull it out and swing to slice Loki’s arms. Hissing in pain, Loki lets you go. You spin around, holding the sword point towards Loki. His eyes looked betrayed as he clutches his bleeding arms.

“We could have been together, (Y/N). You could have been my queen- queen of Asgard!” Loki says, and he starts to evaporate. 

You swing your sword, but it hits dirt as he fully disappears.

You stand there until Thor makes you release the death grip on the sword, and pulls you into his arms.

“I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so sorry,” Thor mumbles, rocking you.

For the first time in a long time, there is no burning in your head.


	32. Bruce Banner/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more request to fill, but this just demanded to be written! 
> 
> Okay, on a scale of one to ten how crazy would it be to write Supernatural inserts when all you've seen are scenes on Youtube and read a whole bunch of other inserts and wiki pages? Cause right now I'm addicted to a show I haven't even watched yet.

_ “This house is too huge. If you move out, I’ll burn all two thousand square feet of it to the ground.”~ Love the Way You Lie (Part 2), Rihanna and Eminem _

 

Your duffel bag and backpack lie by the door, and the car is warming up outside. Bruce is upstairs in the bathroom, and you sit at the kitchen table hating yourself. The mission is over. You and the Hulk defeated the small Hydra group, and now it’s time for you to go. Bruce, however, is staying in the cabin for the rest of the winter. Alaska is good for him, he says. It’s dark all the time, and the snow might be cold, but it’s padding just in case- well, y’know. The goodbye should be cut and dry, but of course it isn’t. When you spend 2 months in a secluded cabin with the most polite and funny guy, things are bound to get complicated. At first, you may not think so. He’s shy and sticks to himself, so he’s not exactly the most open guy. And then you two start to warm up. You crack a few jokes, and he cracks a few back. Suddenly, you’re having dinner together and watching movies. He still keeps his distance because of his  _ specialty _ , but so do you. (Being able to shoot fire out of your body is kinda weird when you’re surrounded by snow. The first time you spontaneously combusted into flames during a fight? Forget it.)  Before you know it, though, you’ve grown attached to his slightly gray curly hair and way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. When he rolls up the sleeves on his flannel shirts and pops the top button to reveal a tiny bit of chest hair, you watch out of the corner of your eyes. You laugh at even his stupidest jokes and it’s always sincere because he’s doing that thing with his eyes. You’re an agent, but damn it. Bruce is more than your partner. You don’t want to roll into bed with your partner (usually), and you certainly never want to wake up to his arms wrapped around your waist in the morning. 

You’re so screwed.

Bruce is walking down the stairs in surprisingly casual sweatpants and t-shirt. He walks straight past you to the coffee machine, and pours himself a cup. The tension is palpable between you two. 

“I’m leaving in a few minutes,” you  say finally.

Bruce hums in acknowledgement but doesn’t say anything. His back faces you as he leans on the counter, very interested in putting sugar in his usually  black coffee.

“It was great working with you. I- uh- had fun. I guess. I mean, yeah. It was nice working with you,” You stumble out.

“Yeah, it was good,” Bruce says, being very particular with stirring his sugar. 

You nod, and stand. At the sound of your chair scraping across the floor, he turns.

“I hate myself,” Bruce forces out, looking your straight in the eye.

You open your mouth, but he holds up a hand. His other one rubs his nose where his glasses rest.

“I want you to stay here. With me.”

Bruce drops his hands, and you sit back down.

“It’s selfish and I hate myself for it but I want you to stay.  I’m asking you to stay with a monster in the middle of the woods in Alaska when there’s 24 hour darkness. With me,” Bruce says, leaning heavily on the table across from you.

Your eyes stay glued to the wood pattern, not meeting his. You want him so bad, but not like this. Not hating himself.

“Yeah, but don’t call yourself that. You’re not a monster, you’re Dr. Bruce Banner who saves lives. You just happen to also be the Hulk, who’s the best at destroying the bad guys. Who sometimes loses himself, but guess what you can’t help that,” You say. 

You move around the table, and wrap him in a hug. 

“That’s probably the worst way to excuse my crimes,” Bruce mumbles into your shoulder.

“No, the worst excuse will be the one I make to Fury to explain why I’m taking the entire winter off,” You laugh.

“Yeah. That should be interesting.”


	33. James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had finals and then this past week my brain went "Y'know what'd be great? Writers block and Supernatural Season 1!" and that's the story of why I haven't updated in forever. 
> 
> I swear I have one request left and to the requester I apologize and I'm working on getting it up and out of the way.   
> Thanks for being patient with me when my brain dies and crawls under a rock to hide from the stress.

_ “So take me to the heavens now as we burn down, as we are found. “Take me to the heavens now,” my heart screams out,”~ House on Fire, Sia _

 

It’s disturbing how pleasant the thought is to Bucky. The thought of bashing this guy’s face in . He’s never been a particularly violent guy, aside from his brainwashed days as Hydra’s killing toy. When he fights, he fights for a cause. He doesn’t just shoot and ask questions later. But right about now, he’s ready to stalk across the room and throttle this guy. And really, this guy isn’t doing anything. 

Except he is, because he’s looking at you. No, scratch that, undressing you with his eyes. That’s more accurate. 

You are Bucky’s, not this red-headed twig’s one-night stand. You two have secretly been going out for six months, and only Steve knows. Not because he’s ashamed of you- God, no- but because he doesn’t want **you** to have to deal with the shame dating someone who’s killed so many people. But right about now he’s about to forget all that and- his glass of beer shatters in his metal arm. He clears his throat and blushes as all eye turn to him. A bartender comes over to the table, and Bucky helps him clean up the glass and liquid. When the bartender disappears, Steve slides into the booth across of him. It blocks his view of you.

“Look, Bucky, I don’t want to bust your chops but what are you doing? You’re sitting over here all cracked up watching your girl get hit on while you do nothing. When you’re that head over heels for a lady, you don’t let her get away. Go over there and let that guy know who’s girl that is!” Steve exclaims, his 40’s slang coming out to his longtime friend. 

“Y’know I think you're just recycling my material from the 40’s,” Bucky sighs.

Steve laughs.

“Of course I am.”

Bucky slides out of his booth, and straightens himself up into his full height as he walks straight towards you. Your eyes remain on the redhead, not even noticing your secret love striding towards you. When the redhead goes to touch you, Bucky swoops and grabs his hand. 

“Keep the fuck off my girlfriend, got it?” He growls, low and slow so the guy gets the message. 

The redhead scoffs, wrinkling his eyebrows together.

“Your “girlfriend” must not be that interested in you if she's getting numbers from other guys,” the guy says, putting his hand hand on your thigh.

Bucky’s jaw twitches. He wishes he could splatter this guy’s freckles across the floor. Just seeing how uncomfortable you looked would have made him angry, but this guy’s  _ wonderful  _ personality didn’t help. Still, how could you let this guy flirt with you? And if this sleaze ball was telling the truth, how could you take his number? Bucky yanks the man’s hand off you and gives him a hard shove to the floor, storming out of the bar. To think that a woman like you could ever want to be with a monster like him was a mistake. Meanwhile, you rush after him, dodging slower through small groups of people and tables. You tail him down to his motorcycle, and sit down in his seat before he can. He's got his fists clenched and his nostrils are flaring with his helmet in hand. You two stare each other down, searching for the answers to this sucky situation. Your eyes fill with angry tears, and you take a deep but shaky breath. 

“So this is how you're gonna be? You're gonna pretend we mean nothing to each other in front of everyone so you don't have to be seen with a girl like me. Then comes somebody who _actually_ _likes_  me and my body type and would be _proud_ to be with me. He flirts with me, and you get pissed off. Accordingly, you storm off to your bike and leave me to catch a ride from Steve. Well, guess what? If you had been really paying attention in your mission to watch over me, you’d know the guy was bluffing. I never responded to his flirting or took his number. Whether or not you admit it to the world , I am your girlfriend: I am not going to cheat on you. So what is your problem? Why do we have to play this game?” You yell.

Bucky reaches for you, but you lean back from him.

“No, no, no. I know what comes next. You're gonna do what all the other guys did. You're gonna hug me and kiss me and say “Baby I love you no matter what you look like”. Next week, though, you'll be talking to your friends about how hot the girl next door is. I've dealt with enough of your type to know,” you steam, getting off Bucky’s bike.

“I don't even know why I followed you out here. I want somebody to love the way I look, not in spite of it. Not just in private places, but in the middle of Times Square, where everyone can see! Is that-” you get cut off by Bucky grabbing your shoulders.

“Doll, you think I hide our relationship because I'm embarrassed about you? Why in the hell would I be embarrassed of a  _ gorgeous  _ woman like you? You should be embarrassed of me! I'm a killer and a traitor and a Nazi and I have a  _ metal arm _ , (Y/N). Yeah, back in 1941 I might have not looked your way but that was decades ago! Decades of murdering good people! Back then I was a kid who wanted to be popular with the “best-looking” dames, and guess what babe? I was never satisfied! They were never enough! You, though, are everything I could ever need and want. I love you more than I thought possible and I want our relationship to be public. I want  everyone to know we're going steady. But not if that means you're going to be ridiculed for being with the Winter Soldier,” Bucky explains. 

There's a long pause as you watch Bucky. His jaw is clenched; he’s not meeting your eyes. You grab his metal hand slowly, and kiss his palm. The metal, cold and unbending, is constant in your own fleshy hands. Bucky watches you from the corner of his eyes. You take a shaky breath, happy tears in your eyes. He sighs, starting to remove his hand from your grasp.

“Don't- don't cry, (Y/N)-”

You keep your hands latched together, and you stand up from his bike. 

“I can deal with you being insecure Bucky. I’ve got my own insecurities. I don’t care if people whisper. To me, you are this untouchable person that is so amazing. I forget that you are a human being, and that you can be insecure as well. I love you, and I was letting myself forget that you love me too. I was letting my insecurities assume that my weight was the problem. Don't let your insecurities assume your arm or your past is a problem. Let's just be in love and in the open,” you say.

His flesh palm cups your cheek, and you lean into it. 

“We’re so stupid,” Bucky says low and dry, leaning his forehead against yours. 

“People do stupid things when they're in love,” you reply.


	34. Sam Wilson/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated in a while, and I'm sorry! I've got that one request from like a month ago left (so sorry!) but for the mean time here's an update! And P.S. I don't even drink coffee.

_ “I went and burned a pot of coffee, and like us I poured it down the drain,”~Come Back Song, Darius Rucker _

 

On a list of things not to burn, coffee is right up there at the top.

Burning any food doesn’t make it smell great, but coffee is one of those drinks that likes to let you know that you screwed up. Because when it burns, you can smell the stench all across your home. All day, it just follows you around. You can light a candle, you can use air freshener, you can open as many windows as you want- burnt coffee smell. Up until this morning, Sam Wilson didn’t know that. Every morning you would make the coffee while he would go on a morning run. The system worked great, because it meant you had an excuse not to wake up at the crack of dawn with him. Not that Sam would have ever seriously made you go running with him, but the backup plan (“ _ I have to make the coffee! _ ”) was nice.

But you’re not here to make the coffee, and haven’t been since last week. 

 

When you first left, he tried quitting coffee. It’s super unhealthy anyway, and Sam knows that he doesn’t need it. But after seven days, Sam has been craving a cup of black whenever he comes back from his workout. He’s seen you do it a million times, so he figured it couldn’t be too hard. A candle, a bottle of air freshener and seven open windows later, Sam has realized this is not the case. He didn’t even  _ know _ you could burn coffee until now. Sitting on the porch outside, he listens to the fan running in the kitchen. He doubts it’s going to help. You always told him that he needed to replace that piece of crap. Sighing, he stares at the dialing pad on his phone. He might have deleted your contact, but he knows your number by heart. Punching in the cellphone number, he swallows. His thumb hits the green phone icon. One ring. Two rings. Three rings… six rings.

_ “Hey, it’s (Y/N)! Sorry I can’t answer right now, but if you leave a message after the beep I’ll get back to you quick as I can! Thanks!” _

A single beep.

“Hey, (Y/N)... it’s Sam. It’s Saturday morning at 6:30. I’m sorry this is so early- you know how I am. I um- gosh. It’s uh, been a week since and I just-”

“Sam?” Your voice rings through the phone, and his breath catches. Hearing a recording of you is one thing. Talking to you is another. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” He says quietly.

“I heard, I just… yeah,” You reply. 

“Uh huh,” Sam says.

“So um, what were you saying? I cut you off before you could say,” You say.

Talking to a machine is one thing. Talking to you is another.

“It was nothing. Just a force of habit, I guess. To call you,” He excuses weakly. 

You’re silent.

“(Y/N)?” He asks tentatively.

“I hate when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“God, do I hate when you do that. I hate when you shut me out,” The words come spitting across the line.

“I don’t shut you out. I might not tell you about my missions, but I do not shut you out,” Sam says, standing up.

“Yes you do!” You yell back.

“No, I do not!”

Calling me out of “habit”? That’s a lie and you know it. Why did you really call me Sam? Why?”

“Because I burned the coffee, (Y/N)!”Sam blurts.

“Great job, honey,” the sarcasm stings.

“No, you don’t get it. When coffee burns, it smells. The whole place smells like burnt coffee, and I can’t get away from it. My clothes, the furniture, and all my stuff smell like burnt fricken coffee. And after years of living with you- the most poetic person I know- it made me think. Our relationship is burnt coffee. It’s not around anymore because I dumped it down the drain, but it’s following me around. No matter what I do, I can’t make the thoughts of you go away. I can’t forget all the memories. I can’t stand the things I did, and I just want it back to the way it used to be. We are burnt coffee, (Y/N), and guess what? I just want my barista back. I want you back,” Sam explodes.

You’re sniffling, and Sam doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or not. You chuckle a little bit. 

“Look, babe, why don’t you come to this nice diner down the street from my hotel and we can talk over a nice pot of coffee. I think they make it even better than I do,” You suggest.

Sam chuckles too.

“I doubt that, but I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt.”

Sam heads inside. It still smells terrible, but it’s somewhat fading now. 

“Just make sure to air out the house so it smells semi-decent when I come home,” the words play around in his head, making him grin.

“I think it’s already getting better.”


	35. Clint Barton/Reader (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FINALLY!!!!!

_ “Yes, I put my cold eye to it. And I never said no. No. I Never said no.”~ Cold Eyes, The Walkabouts _

Fake smiles and plastic hugs.  

Smiling faces but frowning eyes. 

Holding hands just a little too hard.

All the things he never noticed, he now sees. The pictures are all laid out in front of him, from your high school prom picture to the week before you died. He can’t believe he didn’t notice. He’s your only son, for Heaven’s sake, and he never even noticed. He  _ never  _ would have noticed if he hadn’t gone looking for pictures of you to hang up at the funeral. But now that Nathan can see you from beginning to end, he can  _ see  _ you. He can tell the exact time you found out Dad’s dirty secret, because he can see it in your face. The way the light drains out of your eyes between one month and the next- Nathan always thought you had the prettiest eyes. If only he had seen them before. Spread across the floor on the other side of the room is a stack of photos labeled Budapest. 

That’s probably how you found out. A douchebag like Clint Barton wouldn’t man up and tell you he cheated. No way in Hell. Especially not if the mistress was his “Auntie ‘Tasha”.

The room is spinning. Why is the room spinning? Standing, Nathan swipes all of the pictures into his trash can. He storms over to the closet, and pulls out a duffel bag. It’s not an accident you died. You didn’t accidentally take too many pills- you were thinking straight. You wanted to die because of what your husband was doing. You couldn’t take it anymore. Nathan zips up his bag, swiping up the pictures from Budapest. He slams his door on the way out, and heads down the stairs.

“Nathan?” The bastard calls from the living room. 

He rounds the corner, and comes face-to-face with daddy dearest. Nathan is fuming. He stalks over and shoves the first picture he grabs into his father’s chest, waiting. Clint doesn’t even flinch when he sees Natasha’s nude body in the frame, and from her position on the couch she doesn’t even seem to care. 

“Where did you get this, Nate?” Clint’s voice is calm.

“In my  _ mother’s  _ photo collection, Barton,” Nathan hisses. 

“You can’t insult him with your own last name, sweetie. It doesn’t work like that. Now if you just sit down, I can tell you everything,” Natasha says, not expecting a fight. 

She expects him to roll over and give up. How typical.It makes him boil over. He backhands his father, sending his face to the side. It feels good, and he wishes he could put the sadness from his mother’s eyes into his father’s eyes. He’s going to try as hard as he can.

“No, I understand perfectly. You two have been fucking for years, and mom just stayed because of me. Hmm? Thats right, isn’t it?” Nathan shouts.

Clint looks stunned- one step closer to destruction. Natasha reaches out. Nathan bats away her hand.

“That’s why you’re not welcome at Avenger’s Tower anymore! Because they figured it out and didn’t want anything to do with it! That’s why you’re stuck behind a desk barely scraping by. I don’t blame them. I don’t want anything to do with you either,” Nathan spits.

He turns, ready to exit. 

“Wait, son.”

He stops and turns. And there it is. That pitiful look that looks so weak on his father’s face. Where he felt pain for you, he feels nothing for this man.

“Don’t do this.”

Nathan pauses. 

“I wonder how long it’ll take me to spread this throughout S.H.I.E.L.D.? Probably only 10 minutes with help from Tony,” He muses.

Nathan slams the door on the way out.


	36. Pietro Maximoff/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right in the feels!  
> Should I now count Spiderman as an Avenger?

_ “Shine a light and pierce the dark. Keep the candle burning.”~Keep the Candle Burning, Point of Grace _

 

Dying is not as bad as everyone makes it out to be. 

Maybe you just got lucky, though. Cradled in Pietro Maximoff’s arms and not feeling any pain, you hit the jackpot.

“(Y/N), fohcus on me. Keep yhour ehyes on me. Dohn’t leave me- stay wiz me!” His voice is desperate- a contrast on your peaceful world.

While his voice is pleading, the edges of your world are hazing. His eyes are your own personal ocean- you wish you could swim in them forever- but you can feel them slipping away. 

“Help! Help us! We hahve an Avenger down!” He’s shouting into his earpiece.

You reach up towards his face, but you see that the skin has been mangled in certain places. You don’t remember that happening. You chuckle a little, and lean your head into Pietro’s chest. 

“Shhh. It’s okay. I’m okay... I’m just so tired,” You say softly.

“No, yhou hahve too stay aewake. Yhou love me, don't yhou? Dhen stay aewake for me,” Pietro  pleads.

You bury your face further into his chest, and inhale deeply. He’s covered in sweat, but you can still smell his favorite body wash. Something straight from the forest, like pine trees or evergreens. He loves it because Sokovia is covered in trees once you leave the city. In your quieter moments together, he liked to talk about his childhood. One of his most vibrant memories was going onto the rooftop with his parents after it rained and being able to smell the forest from there. 

“(Y/N)? (Y/N) look at me  **prinţesă** . Help iz coming, yhou just need too hold on,” Pietro says muffled. 

Your ears feel full of cotton, but it’s not unpleasant. Almost like pulling a blanket over your head.

You turn your head and look at him. He’s so beautiful, even bloody and battered. You hope that he finds someone else. He deserves someone that loves him and his beauty even more than you do.

“Keep on fighting, babe. Don’t stop for me. Let me fall asleep, but don’t stop. Keep the candle burning. The world needs all the candles it can get. It’s a pretty dark place here without a candle,” You murmur.

His face is blurring with the background, becoming just another piece in the puzzle.His begging fades slowly into the sound of a warm wooshing over grassy hill and the ocean lapping at the shore. The only thing left is the warm feeling and being slowly pulled out. You’re not moving, but you are. The world shifts, and the only thing left is a black hallway.

 

The light at the end of the tunnel is not white. 

It’s golden, like the sun when it’s high in the sky.

You are not afraid to follow it into the next chapter of your life.

 

Translations:

**prinţesă:** Princess


	37. Clint Barton/Reader (Part 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good grief! I've been pretty busy but here's the final part to the Clint Barton x reader where he openly cheats on you! Enjoy!

_“The flames are getting bigger now in this burning house,” Burning House, Cam_

Autopilot takes over on the way to Avengers Tower, and Nathan barely holds it together. It feels like a layer of dirt has settled onto his skin and he can’t get it off. More like multiple layers, in fact. One layer of grime for every ignorant word that came out of his mouth. Every complaint, every curse, every “trophy wife” joke he ever made to his mother- they settle like oil and dust on his skin. He pulls into the parking lot and makes quick work of getting inside. It’s been 2 years since he’s seen Uncle Tony, but the secretary recognizes him instantly. Her eyes look like yours, and so he doesn’t stop to chat. The elevator opens to the living room and suddenly all eyes are on him. His Aunt Pepper stops drinking her coffee, and dashes across the room. She wraps him in a hug that feels like home, but it’s over all too soon. She looks at Tony, nods, and leaves the way he came. The silence doesn’t last long.   
“I’m really sorry to hear about your mom, Nathan,” Tony says.  
Nathan nods, and moves towards Tony. He stops in front of him, and holds the pictures out. They’ve almost burned a hole in his pocket.   
Tony raises an eyebrow, and flicks through them. He sighs, and sits down hard. His eyes meet Nathan’s and they look tired.   
“I thought something was up from the minute I met your mom, but it took me a couple of years to figure out what. I- I could have done something. I offered her lawyers and money but she wouldn't take it. I should have kept asking. I'm sorry Nathan. I'm sorry you have to deal with this and I'm sorry you had to learn about it this way,” Tony says.  
Nathan sits down next to Tony at the table. The pictures lay upside down on the modern white top. He wants to reach out and-and.   
And what? Post nudes of his dad online? How does that help? How does it stop the look in your eyes- the one that gave up years before you finally quit?  
Sighing, Nathan rests a hand on top of Tony’s.   
“Does your fireplace work?”  
Tony nods, and Jarvis turns it on. The flames crackle and wave above the logs like dancing women with red hair. Nathan scoops up the pictures and stands. His eyes scan over the pictures from Budapest and he wishes for something better. He's glad he knows about his dad and aunt. He wouldn't change that. He's glad he had his mom-you- too. He just wants to store this in his mind as a road map- a warning sign well before the construction. He swears that his wife is never going to worry about him being faithful.  
Nathan lets the photos drop into the fireplace.   
He hopes you're smiling again and your eyes are as bright as a rising sun.


	38. Tony Stark/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm sorry for the short hiatus but I'm just... getting life together right now. I go through ideas, then writers block and uninspiration and inspiration for something else and... the life of a writer. Gotta love it. Thanks for sticking with me, any requests left unanswered will be filled shortly. It would help if you could comment again to remind me, though. Love you guys.

_ “And if you do this it will help you some sunny day,” Simple Man, Lynyrd Skynyrd _

 

The light filtering through Tony’s lab shines bright against the steel countertops. It took two hours in a helicopter, but Tony took you to one of his many vacation homes. He insisted that since he was the one who broke your “breathing thingy-mabobber”, he should be the one to fix it. He rustles through a box of spare parts, unusually quiet. You wish you kind find the words, and then be able to say them. You settle for tapping your foot against the leg of your chair. You feel naked without something around your neck. Like you’re walking around in your underwear, just a lot more scarred. Finally Tony pulls an oval piece out of the junk. Walking slowly towards you, he seems to be approaching a wild animal. He floats the piece of metal over your scar, sizing it up. Nodding, he pulls back. 

“So. This glorified breathing tube. It only allows you to breathe and eat?” Tony says, putting it into what looks like a microwave oven. 

You furrow your eyebrows and nod.

“Hmm. Would you be interested in talking again? Because if I could weave some wires in this bad boy and program it with a video of you speaking, you could type on a telepad and it would sound just like you.”

You gape like a fish, and then rapidly shake your head. No. You don’t want to speak again. You don’t-

“(Y/N). Use your words,” Tony says, handing you a telepad. “This piece of metal has been acting like the tubes in your throat for eating and breathing. But the problem is, the metal tubes are connected directly to the outside plate. If something messes with the plate, the tubes get out of alignment and you end up like you did back there. Now, if you let m-” 

You groan low in your throat and stand up. Stamping your foot, you look Tony straight in the eye. 

_ “No.” _ You try to say with your eyes.

Tony stops. You can see him twitching, the anger rolling underneath his skin. And suddenly, his lips are on yours. Shocked, you try to suck in air but end up choking. Tony holds you in his arms while you cough. He is silent until he stops.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N). I’m so sorry. I just… watching you gasp for breath back there was the most terrifying moment of my life. I’m all alone. Without you, I’m just pathetic. And I don’t just need you, I want you. I made fun of you for being mute but that’s only because talking is my way of weasling out of the stuff that really matters. Stuff like you. Please let me help you,” Tony says, looking into your eyes. 

_ “But I’m scared.” _ You mouth. 

“I know, honey. I know. But you don’t have to suffer anymore. It will all be worth it. Please. Trust me,” Tony says. 

Taking a shaky breath, you nod. 

 

The first words you say to him are “I love you”.


	39. Sam Wilson/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAHHAHAHAHAIT'SBEENTWOMONTHSANDTHISCHAPTERISNOTTHATGOODHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

_ “Summertime's for summer girls, who kiss and run away. But winter girls have lovin' arms to warm a winter day.”~ Warm Baby, The Lovin’ Spoonful _

It’s easy to fall in love with a superhero. I mean, you see them everywhere: TV, the internet, movies and magazines. There are big, shiny photos of them plastered across billboards. Even the graffiti artists put them up random brick walls and abandoned buildings! As you can imagine, it’s not hard to develop an unattainable crush.

It is, however, very difficult to control mobs of crushing girls. Like a constant One Direction concert, girls are always swarming wherever the Avengers are. Most of them are the type of women Tony would go for: beautiful face, gorgeous beach body and willing to do  _ anything.  _ Even after being wanted by the U.S. government, hiding in Africa and beating each other to a pulp, the ladies still love them. But they don’t have a clue.  They don’t know what it was like, having to go through questioning after questioning. The constant _ “Where are they?” “We know you know!” “You swore to tell the truth!”.  _  The witness stand began to feel more like home than your apartment for how many hours you sat there. Those girls just don’t know what it was like not being able to talk for more than a couple minutes. And Sam couldn’t tell you where he was- it was dangerous for you to know the truth. Bad enough you had to lie about not speaking to him. It would be even worse to lie about knowing his whereabouts.  Nobody knows how it felt when he stepped off the plane and greeted you like a distant relative. A hug and a peck on the check- because what do you say to someone after all this? Dating a superhero may seem like sunshine and rainbows, but what about when it snows? Where are the screaming girls when it gets cold and wet? Where are the fangirls when the nightmares take over his mind and body? When his screams pull you from even the deepest of dreams? PTSD is not a four-letter acronym, it is a living hell. There is no respite from your own mind. You live there and you die there. You died everyday when Sam came back. Your little apartment was no longer cozy. It was suffocating. But you refused to give up. Because no matter how much he panics at fireworks, he’s still your Sam. He’s the Sam who cracks jokes and laughs with his friends. He might be damaged, but he doesn’t let it show. He’s still genuinely in love with life. 

He’s still in love with you. 

And so when the girls in short shorts and bikini tops come around, you don’t mind. Because you are not a summer romance: a girl that you love and leave.  You are the woman who sticks around even when the nights get colder. 

And to be honest? You kind of feel bad for those warm-blooded women. They’ll never get to memorize the way his skin feels against yours on cold nights. It’s the warmest touch you’ve ever felt.


	40. Bruce Banner/Reader

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short one with you in Natasha's position.

_ “I don’t understand why you gotta be- why do you need to be so, so cold?”~You’re So Cold, Mariah Carey _

 

Bruce likes space. 

Space is safe. If you have enough space, hulking out is not a big deal. 

That would be fine, if space was just distance. But to Bruce, space includes people. He’s so determined to have space so he doesn’t hurt anybody, that he ends up hurting you anyway. You knew that it was a risk to push Bruce into that pit, but you needed the Hulk to fight Ultron.

You never thought in a million years that he would leave because of it. 

You expected more of Bruce than to get in a plane and disappear. Sure, you got a phone call but that ended pretty damn quick. 

Does he even realize what he means to you? Can he imagine how many nights you’ve spent in bed fighting tears? Did he think you would just move on? Does he think that little of you- and himself?

You don’t know.

He’s too busy freezing you out, probably.


	41. Steve Rogers x Reader

_"This feeling begins just like a spark, tossing and turning inside of your heart, exploding in the dark."~Here With Me, Susie Suh x Robot Koch_

BROOKLYN ANTIQUES.  
The shop in the middle of West 38th Street is not the most impressive store in New York. In fact, most people would call it downright plain and well…old. And if you miss the sign (which does not light up like a Christmas tree or spin like a top), you're never going to find it.

But maybe that's what draws Steve back here.   
While most people are staring at their phones, he's soaking it all in. New York has changed so much since the 40’s. It's still a fast and flashy city, but on another level.Yet here it is: the store that Peggy took him to all those years ago. The place where he became Captain America.   
Pushing open the glass door, he barely recognizes the inside. 70 years will do that, he guesses. Passing by antiques from times like the 60’s and 70’s is weird. He fingers at the price tags as he passes, he wonders how the old Steve would have reacted to being here. Chuckling, he suspects that he probably would have had an asthma attack. Realizing how crazy he must look, he makes sure no one is monitoring his inner monologue. The counter that still stands is empty, like the rest of shop so far. He guesses the modern world has to have some influence here. Turning into a dimly lit corner, he hears the quiet hum of an old light bulb and the tick of a clock. And then you're there. Standing in front of a bookshelf, your hair and clothes are flecked with paint. You jump and turn quickly, surprised by his presence. Quickly your surprise melts to humor, your eyes meeting his. The smile on your face is genuine- so much different than the plastic he's used to.  
“I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come in. Welcome to Brooklyn Antiques- the oldest antiques store in the city!” You chirp.  
“Pleasure to meet you, m’am. My name is Steve,” He replies, holding out his hand.  
Grinning, you firmly take his hand and give a big shake. Meeting your skin is like sparks flying. Like touching the end of an electrical wire, your palm is pure energy.  
“(Y/N)- and the pleasure is mine. Is there any way I can help you?” You ask, tilting your head to the side just a little.  
There's nothing he needs to ask, but he wants to ask something. Anything at all to talk to you. Zooming in on the flecks of blue and red near your hairline and the painting of the American flag behind you, he takes a shot.   
“You wouldn't have happened to paint any of these pieces on the wall, would you?” He asks.  
You blush and duck your head, chuckling.   
“No, but I probably still have paint in my hair. I do work on my own, that I sell online. But, uh, thanks for the compliment. There's not an ugly painting here,” you say.  
“Yeah, definitely! I prefer graphite but I can definitely appreciate water colors and acrylics,” Steve says, hoping to extend the conversation.   
Your eyes meet his again, lighting up.   
“Graphite is my favorite! It can develop such human qualities like lighting and warmth. Lately I've been branching out, though,” you bubble over, your enthusiasm bringing a smile to Steve’s face.   
There's a small silence and Steve searches for the words, desperately wanting to keep the connection open.   
“Hey, um, I know that you're a superhero and all. But would you wanna go for dinner or something?” You ask, studying your toes.   
Like the moon breaking through the clouds, Steve sends a little prayer up to heaven.   
“You know? I would love that,” Steve says.  
Meetings his blue eyes, you smile and it's like looking at fireworks on the Fourth of July. Steve feels lucky to just be a part of the celebration.

 

 


End file.
